


The dragon and the woodland fox

by hamsterborn



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, I don't control the characters they are the ones who decide what I should write, I'll add more tags as I continue writing, Not Canon Compliant, Unrequited Love, implied past sexual abuse, nord dragonborn - Freeform, there will be shipping in the future, there will be violence in future chapters (or so I plan to)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamsterborn/pseuds/hamsterborn
Summary: [HIATUS]Dragged to Hermaeus Mora's realm of Oblivion, the Last Dragonborn, Vána, finds herself trapped in Apocrypha, setting on a quest of finding a way to return to the mortal world and her beloved Skyrim. But fate has decreated that she would not return so easily to her world, and instead, as she opened a strang book in hope of returning to Mundus, the hero of Skyrim found herself being transported to an unknown world in which she'll have to survive all the politic crises happening between the local nations before she can go back from hence she came.
Relationships: Female Nord Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Iorveth, Female Nord Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak (one-sided), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold
Comments: 42
Kudos: 78
Collections: Wasn't Quite Expecting This (But I Loved It)





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since she escaped from Apocrypha, Vána knew this moment would come.

Hermaus Mora had told... no, he had warned her that she only left with Miraak, almost dead at the time, because he allowed her to do so. The Last Dragonborn was was his new Champion, as the first Dragonborn was before her.

It wasn’t her choice to pledge her soul to such foul entity, but then again... When had she had any choice in any matter ever since she fled Helgen after being almost decapitaded¿ What else could she have done back at that time¿ She had to stop Miraak before he managed to enslave all the citizens of Solstheim with the power of his Voice, before he managed to kill her himself and devour her soul so he could return to Mundus. He had to be stopped, even though she always saw the Atmoran more as a victim than a villain which the Skaal claimed him to be.

Was Miraak so horrible for desiring to be free from his dragon masters¿ Was it wrong that he wished to be free, or, as he said, to become the master of his own fate¿ As someone bound to fate herself, Vána knew this desire of his. To be able to choose her own destiny, her fate, for Akatosh’s blessing of the dragon blood rushing through her veins sometimes felt more like a curse.

She never wanted to be a legendery hero of some ancient prophecy, having to hunt and kill dragons that came back to live after hundreds, if not thousands of years. Only the Gods knew how scared she was when facing Alduin at Sovngard... The fear of losing, dying.... having her very soul devoured by the World-Eater. Nor had she wanted to fight in a war, having to shot arrows into the heart of her own kinsmen. She never wanted to have to fight against some crazy vampires who wanted to block the sun so they could rule over mortals.

She never wanted to sell her soul to Hermaus Mora. Because she knew this day would come. He had promised that he would take her to Apocrypha.

Vána only wished that it would had taken more time.

She had been fighting against some falmer and their chaurus pets inside a dwemer ruin, alongside her shield-brothers, the dunmer Venalir Sadri and the bosmer Sindri and the first Dragonborn himself (who became an strong ally after Vána helped him escape from Apocrypha) when she started to hear some strange whispers in her minde that grew louder and louder by each second. At first she thought it was the sound of a word wall, but sooner than later she realized it wasn’t the case.

Her head started to throb, at the point in which she felt like it was going to explode, falling into her knees as she screamed, with the Earth beneath her tremble with the mighty of her Voice. Somewhere, muffled by her own shouts, there were the voices of her friends, her shield-siblings. Venalir was closer, or so she thought, as his voice was the clearest among the others calling for her name. She could listen to Miraak as well, his voice dripping with genuine fear as he knew better than anyone whose presence was that.

Vána tried to turn her head towards the direction she last saw her friends, but she had a hard time trying to move her body as her visions started to darken from the corners of her eyes until she couldn’t see anymore and she started to feel lightheaded. Something sticky and slimy encircled her legs and it took a few seconds for her to realize it was one of the dark tentacles from the daedric prince of knowledge.

She would never forget these things from her time in Apocrypha or the horror she felt as tentacles would pull her towards Hermaus Mora’s realm whenever she had to open one of his damned Black Books... It was the same dread she felt right at that moment, as she screamed for help, feeling more tentacles encircling her body, dragging her towards a black portal.

A pair of hands tried to take her own hands to pull her to safety, probably Venalir’s from the hardness of the chitin armor in his gloves, and it was soon followed by another pair of hands, Sindri’s if the fur gloves were of any indication, as he too was trying to prevent her from being sucked into the portal to Hermaus Mora’s realm.

“Hold on, sister!”, cried out Venalir.

“I’m trying to!”, answered the Last Dragonborn, using all her remaining strength to grab onto them as if her life depended on it (and it probably did).

Somewhere a little behind from both mer, came the voice of Miraak, chanting ancient dovahzul words as he was trying to close the portal.

“Fast, Miraak!”, shoted Sindri, “The tentacles are too strong for us both!”

“Shut up and let me focus!”, came the answer from the Atmoran who wasted no time before starting his chant again.

And for a moment Vána felt the pull from the portal getting weaker and the combined strength from her shield-brothers was taking the upper hand over Mora’s tentacles.

That is... Until a loud shriek was heard and the hands helping her get away from the portal to Oblivion were forcebly pushed away from hers, with both mer groaning from pain as they were sent flying towards Miraak’s direction by the only creature Vána ever heard making such horrible sound. A lurker.

Miraak had no time to do anything as Venalir and Sindri crashed onto him with the mighty of the lurkers attack, and he was forced to stop his chanting as the three of them collided against the stone wall of the dwemer ruin they were in.

Vána screamed, calling out for her allies, feeling the pull of the tentacles once more bringing her close to the portal as Hermaus Mora’s laugh reverberated across the room.

“Did you really think you would escape be, dear mortal¿ Have I not warned you that I would come to take you, my Champion¿”, said the haunting voice of the daedric lord as he laughed at her.

The lurker shrieked once more as Vána heard the sounds of Sindri’s lightning bolts and Venalir’s sword clashing against against it as Miraak started his ancient chant once more, his voice dripping with his obvious desperation at the presence of the source of his worst nightmares.

There were no doubts about both Sindri and Venalir’s abilities in combat, the bosmer being a powerful mage and the dunmer an agile spellsword, but even Vána had had her troubles against lurkers when she once found herself in Hermaeus Mora’s realm and she prayed that the two of them could hold the daedric creature long enough for Miraak to close the portal to Oblivion.

“Ven!”, came the voice of the Last Dragonborn, who ignored the taunts coming from Mora’s voice as she begged for her shield-brother to help her.

“Sister!”, the dunmer called, getting past the lurker with the help of Sindri’s spells, hoping the bosmer mage could manage to hold the creature while he grabbed his sister’s hands and tried to pull her with all his strength.

“Miraak, please!”, said Venalir, which alone couldn’t do anything against the hold of Mora’s tentacles on Vána’s lower body.

There was no answer, as Miraak couldn’t stop his chanting, but the Atmoran’s blue eyes went to the Last Dragonborn, begging in silence for his forgivness, even though he knew she couldn’t see him with her vision blacked out due to Mora’s influence over her body.

He knew that none of this would be happening if she had just let him die at the Summit of Apocrypha. She should had... She should had let him go, let Hermaus Mora finish him. She should have never played the hero and saved him for believing him to be the good person he had been trying to be for the past two years ever since he escaped from Apocrypha. But that was Vána. The kind and naive girl who never wanted a power that rivaled the Gods...

She traded her soul to save him and Solstheim. She only got caught in this mess because of him. And now... when she was the one needing him, he was useless against his fear which diminished his infamous unbreakable will and weakened his spells.

“Guys!...”, shouted Sindri, calling out Miraak and Sindri’s attention towards him, “Not wanting to be a killjoy but... There’s more of them coming!”, he said, pointing out to two other lurkers coming out from the portal while also trying to fend himself from the first one that attacked them.

Venalir, the closest to the portal as he tried to pull the nord, didn’t even had the chance to wide his red eyes before he was thrown away by one of the lurkers that extended its tongue-tentacle in his direction, unwillingly letting go of Vána’s hands.

“Sister!”, called out the dunmer in pain, trying to stop the blood from pouring from his abdomen after the attack, seconds before the nord disappeared into the portal, calling out for him as she tried to reach his hands.

The last thing Vána heard before feeling her whole body being engulfed by the portal were the frightened screams of her friends, calling out for her, without even realizing she was screaming as well.

\--------------------------------------------------xxxx--------------------------------------------------

Everything went black as the silver-haired Dragonborn felt herself being dragged to Apocrypha, her screams being silenced with the force of the pressure from the the Void crushing the air from her lungs as she lost her consciousness. The sensation of being pulled to Oblivion never a pleasent one and one she haven’t missed at all.

And as time does not flow the same way it does in Mundus, it was hard to point out how long she remained unconsciouss until she woke up dizzy, she took off her helmet in order to take a deep breath, coughing from the strain of filling her lungs with the heavy and ticky air of Apocrypha.

It was exactly as she remembered it, a hazy atmosphere, like something out of a nightmare, with every wall in constant movement instead of remaining still like normal walls should be, as the realm itself was always changing and expending itself with an infinite number of books, pilled into equally infinite shelves and over each other, as ripped pages flew around even though there was no wind there.

The green sky over her head left her feeling a little claustrophobic with the lack of a sun or moons, and as she checked her surrondings, the nord could see tentacles coming out of pools made of dark waters, just waiting for some fool to get close enough for them to strike.

“Welcome, my dear Champion! Welcome!”, sang the voice of Hermaus Mora, seemingly coming out of nowhere and everywhere at the same time, “I hope you enjoy your time here... For you will be staying for quite a longe time”, he said again, laughing.

Vána searched around, trying to figure out the source of the voice, narrowing her blue eyes, on guard as she expected one of the tentacles nearby to attack her or something, but nothing happened and the voice didn’t return either. She had been left alone, at least for now.

‘Talos guide me’, Vána thought while trying to get herself together from the forced travel between planes.

Her long silver hair was sticking to her face, her skin dripping from sweat as she stood on her legs, a little woobly, and checked her equipement, sure she would had to fight her way out of Apocrypha. She still had Auriel’s bow and a few arrow in her quiver, alongside with Dawnbreaker sheathed next to her hip. Tracing her hands over her ancient nord armor she found no traces of new holes on the fur nor on the metal plates.

Sighing, she hoped and prayed that her friends were well back in Mundus. Vána remembered hearing the battle between Sindri and the first lurker as well as hearing Venalir getting hurt, althought she had no idea how hurt he was when she got pulled into the portal.

And Miraak... Even if she hadn’t seen him she knew he was suffering as well, having to face the one thing he feared the most. Hermaus Mora had been a cruel master to the First Dragonborn, not only she saw first-hand how the daedric lord had tried to dispose his former Champion, she had spend many nights listening to the Atmoran as he opened his heart to Vána about the centuries he spent trying to escape from Oblivion.

It was all the reminder she needed to know she couldn’t stay there. She had to find a way out... even if she didn’t know where to begin with. If it wasn’t for the Black Books or Hermaus Mora’s “kindness” in letting her go with Miraak at that time at the Summit of Apocrypha, she would have been stuck there just like all the poor mortals that came to this realm in search of forbidden knowledge.

Vána putted back her helmet, readying Auriel’s bow in her hands as she looked at her surroundings once more before starting to move. She had no direction in her mind, but due to her previous visits she knew too well that it wasn’t a good idea to stay idle in Apocrypha as something would surely soon come lungging at her throat... If the walls didn’t crush her before as they moved.

The Last Dragonborn found some seekers as she creeped stealthly through the corridors, effortlessly defeating them with her arrows, deciding to not use her Thu’um so as not to call unwanted attention. She avoided the lurkers in her path, not wishing to face such nasty creatures and their disgusting toxic spits, also paying attention so as not to miss her steps as she crossed the movings bridges, less she wanted to fall into the dark waters (which she didn’t, as she knew well by her own experience they were toxic).

Whatever Hermaeus Mora was planning was also a mystery to her. He appeared out of nowhere, took her to his realm, said a few “welcoming” words and disappeared, leaving her to wonder what would come next. And not knowing what would come next was terrifying. Was it the same with Miraak, when the daedric prince saved him from Vahlok’s fatal blow¿ Was he too left wandering across Apocrypha all alone and with no explanations¿

With a sigh, Vána shook her head, feeling as if she was walking in circles without knowing whats she needed. She needed... to do something. Find something that would grant her freedom. But what¿ What should she look for¿

...Probably a book.

Maybe she could find one of the Black Books again. But first she would have to go pass the shadowy parts of Apocrypha.

Taking a deep breath, Vána hold on to her Talos amulet before casting mage light spell as she entered the shadowy zone, knowing that without any source of light the darkness would start to hurt her if she tried to cross it in pure darkness (an experience she previously had and would prefer to not repeat again).

As she walked into the shadow maze, the Last Dragonborn heard some unintelligible whispers, turning her head around as to try to find the owners of the voices. But just like with Mora’s voice that seemed to come from everywhere, she couldn’t point out a single source from the whisperes, deciding to use her Thu’um.

“ _Lass yah nir_ ”, she whispered herself, focusing on sensing every lifeform nearby as she used her aura whisper “shout” to detect all lifeforms nearby. It didn’t take long before she identified identifying the source of the voices she was hearing. Seekers. They were hidding under the shadows with their watchful gazes into her... And that didn’t seem to be pleased when she took notice of their whereabouts, shrieking as they cloned themselves and readied their spells in her direction.

Cursing under her breath, Vána started to run, casting more lights in every direction, trying to find a why out of the shadowy zone she was in.

‘Shit, shit, shit!’, she mused in her thoughts, silently praying for Kynareth to guide her to the right path so she could escape the wrath of the seekers. Vána could hear Hermaeus Mora resonating laugh, mocking the Last Dragonborn as she fled and ducked away from every spell casted in her direction.

“My dear Champion”, came the Hermaeus Mora voice from out of nowhere, dripping with fake care, “Have you not learned from the past mistakes of my previous Champion¿ Have you not seen that there’s no escape from my realm¿”

Narrowing her eyes, Vána decided to not give him the pleasure of answering to his provocations. And her lack of response to his tauting was soon rewarded with many tentacles appearing from tiny portals, all attempting to strike her down, forcing her to use her whirlwind sprint to evade them as soon as she saw the exit from the darkness.

“ _Wuld nah kest_!”, she shouted, passing through the tentacles unharmed and smiling to herself, feeling slightly victorious for the moment. If Hermaeus Mora wanted to catch her, he would need more than a few tricks as she wasn’t unprepared now like was had been back at the dwemer ruin.

“Fool!”, his voice resonated again, and the ground shaked beneath her, making Vána lose her feet and fall into the ground. She grasped her bow as not to miss it, unable to get back to her feet while the ground continued to shake. Turning her gaze off the ground she saw the walls moving and the corridors changing places and grithed her teeth in anger.

“You will stay here until I say so! This is my realm and you are my Champion! Do not fool yourself with false hope of escaping... You only left here once because I allowed so!”, said the daedric prince once more.

“You’ll never... you’ll never keep me here!” retorted the Last Dragonborn, her voice trembling from all the shaking beneath her, incapable of speaking with the autorithy she desired, “I’ll find a way out... or I’ll die... or I’ll die trying!”, continued her, only to hear another laugh.

‘Laugh all you want’, she thought, ‘I’ll find a way out!’

She would not stay trapped in Apocrypha. She could not. Her friends were waiting for her. Skyrim needed her. Tamriel needed her. She was not going to give up on finding a way out, no matter how long it took... Even though she hoped she wouldn’t have to stay thousand of years in search of a way out as Miraak did. And with all resolve she could muster, she forced herself back to her feet, even though the ground still shaked as if some earthquaking were happening in Apocrypha.

“ _Tiid klo ul_!”, she shouted, slowing the time around her so the tremors slowed down around her, giving her an opportunity to run towards the closest corridor, crossing the bridge to a small archipelago.

A lurker crawled out of the pool at the center of the small island and Vána readied her bow, shotting three arrows at once at its direction, aiming for the head. The creature shrieked and spitted acid at the Last Dragonborn, who quickly rolled to the right and used her Thu’um.

“ _Yol toor shul_!”, she shouted, breathing fire at the lurkers direction and taking advantage of its pain to shot an arrow inside its open mouth, killing it with precision.

“What’s your point, Hermaeus Mora¿ You want a Champion so you can kill them¿”, she questioned, already sprinting away, looking for a safe place to rest... or safest as it could get in this realm. Her breathing was heavy from strain as she was still adjusting to the hazy atmosphere she was trapped in.

“Oh, no, little dragon... I wish not to kill you.”, came the voice while Vána rested her back against the wall, taking deep breaths, trying to recover herself a little from the adrenaline rush from before, “If you wish me to stop sending my minions towards you... All you need to do is stop fighting against the inevitable.”

Vána hated how sweet he sounded, like the caring father she never had, as if he actually cared for her well-being.

It was a mystery to her well the daedric prince of knowledge would want a Champion like her. His whole realm was filled with books and scrolls with unimagible knowledge... And Hermaeus Mora wished a semi-illiterate who only knew the basics of reading she needed to survive, having grown up as a hunter in the forests of Falkreath. What did he expected of someone like her¿

Miraak had been an importante dragon priest of his time, an scholar, a cultured man who spoke more languages that Vána knew about (she, on the other hand, could only speak nord and common language... knowing just a little of dovahzul, the necessary to understand and utilize her shouts).

Apart from both being Dragonborns, they weren nothing alike. And the silver-haired nord definetly didn’t see herself as someone fit to be the Champion of the daedric lord of knowledge.

Not that she wanted to either.

No, what she wanted was to leave this place. She hoped that she wasn’t stuck in Apocrypha for more than a few days, having no way of knowing how long it was that she got sucked into the portal back in Mundus. Vána could remember how she thought she had spent just a few hours in Apocrypha back when she was fighting against Miraak’s influence over the All-Maker stones in Solstheim, only to get back to Nirn and listen to Venalir and Sindri telling her that she had been gone for days, leaving them scared to death that she wouldn’t be coming back anymore.

Once more she caught herself thinking about Miraak as she remembered the events of two years before. Did he feel the passage of time during his time trapped in Oblivion, or he, just like Vána, had no idea how long he had spent his time searching for his way out of this nightmarish place¿ She never asked him about anything during his imprisionment time, always thought he wouldn’t feel comfortable, only listening when Miraak himself decided to tell his newest allies about his past.

And how she regretted not asking him anything before. Perhaps she wouldn’t feel so lost and helpless as she felt.

“Got tired, little dragon¿”, reverberated Mora’s voice, always dripping with false care, “If you finally decided to accept your fate... I can lead you to some place for you to rest, one that’ll not be troubled but any of my minions.”

“Save your false promises for those who believe them, Hermaeus Mora.”, was all she could think on answering, getting away from the wall she had been resting to continue her search for any of the Black Books.

“Very well, then... I am curious to see how long it will take for you to give up.”, said the daedric prince before leaving Vána in silence. A silence she felt blessed at first... until she found herself completly alone, without no seekers or lurkers around for who knows how many hours or days.

Unable to rest, always expecting for something to attack her or the walls to move and the ground shake, Vána was tensed, almost paranoid with the unnatural silence surrouding her.

Safe from the sounds of the waves coming from the dark waters and the pages flying towards every corner, it was maddening how silente Apocrypha became after the last time the nord heard Hermaeus Mora tauting her. Perhaps he realized that this would be the best way of finally breaking her will...

And Vána would be damned if she confessed... but he was succeding.

\--------------------------------------------------xxxx--------------------------------------------------

Without any success in her quest of finding a Black Book, tired for not being able to rest and bored to death with the lack of action as Vána found herself alone, the nord started to grab random books from the shelves, trying her best to read their contents, sometimes giving up after realzing they were too complex for someone with her level of scholarship... which was pretty low if she had to admit.

Yet, sometimes she found books that were easier for her to read, and they seemed to be appearing more than often, once she stopped to think about it. Maybe Hermaus Mora was trying, in his own way, to teach her how to read properly, which could be seem as something nice of his part if she didn’t know him better. But she knew him better. She knew the prince was probably grooming her to become his ideal Champion.

One thing Vána had to admit: she was enjoying the fact that she was actually starting to understand what she read and the contentes of what she read. The nord had learned about ancient heros, such as the Eternal Champion, the Hero of Daggerfall, the Nerevarine, the Hero of Kvatch... Even the forgotten Vestige, hero of the Three-Bannered War of the second era and Molag Bal’s attempt to invade and merge Nirn to Coldharbour.

However, it also scared her to death that she was spending to much time with these books instead of searching for the one that could help her bringing her back home to Skyrim. She prayed to Akatosh that she had not spent already hundreds of years in Apocrypha.

Taking a deep breath as she was sat cross-legged in one of the many empty rooms of Mora’s realm of Oblivion, the Last Dragonborn closed the book in her hands, turning her gaze towards the cloudy sky of Apocrypha. Its dark clouds still gave her a degree of claustrophobia, but she realized she no longer had trouble brathing the heavy air of this plane. It wasn’t just that she had felt dizzy because of the forced travel between planes, no, her body was in fact adjusting to the hazy atmosphere of Apocrypha, and it was one of many signs that she had overstayed her time there. She needed to get out... as soon as possible.

Growling to herself for her lack of will and attitude to escape, Vána threw away the book in her hands, getting to her feet as she strode in some random direction.

What would her friends think of her if they knew she was reading books in Apocrypha while they were trying to find a way to get her back home¿

That’s if... that’s if they were still trying to save her.

They would be, wouldn’t they¿ Surely her friends wouldn’t forget about her, they would do everything they could to try to help her.

Venalir was the closest thing she had of a brother, ever since they started to travel together once they met in at a bandint’s camp nearby Windhelm as they both wanted to find the stolen supplies of the dunmer merchants from the Grey Quarter. They became close after fighting side by side, close enough that those who didn’t know about Venalir’s lack of interest in women always believed that they were actually having an affair (which always made them both laugh).

Sindri was also like a family member, that smartass younger brother who never stopped talking about the wonders of the dwemer civilization and how one day he would use dwemer constructs to help the bosmeri resistence against the Thalmor back in Valenwood, even though it was obvious he no longer wished to leave Skyrim as he found a new family there after losing his entire family and clan in Valenwood.

And Miraak... Miraak was... Something else that Vána couldn’t quite place. They were enemies once, and more than a single time he had tried to kill her to take her soul. And yet, when the time came and he was impaled by one of Hermaeus tentacles, Vána just couldn’t watch him die like that, knowing that everything he did, he did because he wanted to be free, for he didn’t want to be a slave anymore. She was never going to agree with his methods, but she believed at that time that maybe if someone gave him a chance he could be someone better... And for all the time he spent with Vána and her shield-brothers, Miraak had become someone better. He was attoning for his sins as he helped them to help others in Skyrim and Solstheim. He became a part of their little family, and even though he often acted cold towards others he had opened up to them, trusting his new allies enough to share ideas and theories about with Sindri, also discussing politics with Venalir and even helping Vána with her dovahzul (althoght he usually said he only helped her because he didn’t want to listen to her butchering the ancient dragon language)... Sometimes he would even participate in drinking contests whenever they met other friends they made along their travels. Miraak never stated it out loud, but the three around him knew he trusted them.

Vána never thought they would become close when she begged to Hermaeus Mora to let her take him back home. No, she never stopped to think about the possible consequences of her action at that time, being used to be the great hero, the ledendary Last Dragonborn of the ancient prophecies of the Elder Scrolls. She had thought herself invencible. And that’s why she got into this situation.

A situation she had to find a way out. She couldn’t give up or stay idle because she _was sure_ that those three wouldn’t stop searching for a way to help her.

Vána owned getting out of Apocrypha to them. And this was the resolve she was needing to push forward in her quest, opening many books along her track towards nowhere in particular, hoping to find something that could help her.

Soon she realized that her recently found resolve was not left ignored. She felt more than saw the presence of the Seekers, using her aura whisper so as not to get surprised by them in case they decided to attack her.

It was annoying and relieving that they were back at following her. And she wasn’t only relieved to not being alone anymore but also because she thought that maybe she was getting closer to something that could be useful for her to escape if Hermaeus Mora felt necessary to send his minions to watch her closely after who knows how long he decided to leave her alone.

And so, if Vána lacked any encouragement to continue her search, opening various random books, Hermaeus Mora mostly unknowngly had gave even more confidence to the Last Dragonborn.

The more she advanced, the more the felt the seekers getting closer. It was a sign, it had to be. She would find a way out. She had to. She...

She saw a purple book, displayed on a pedestal right at the other side of the bridge between the small island she was standing and the one with the book.

It clearly wasn’t one of the Black Books, Vána remembered them very well (how could she ever forget those damned books after everything she been through¿). But there weren’t many books in which Hermaeus Mora seemed to find importante or even special enough to display as such. In fact, now that she stopped to think a little, other than the Black Books, this one was the first and only she saw displayed on a pedestal. It had to be important.

It had to. Because as soon as the Last Dragonborn took one step towards its direction, the ground began to shake, almost making her lose her balance, turning her gaze towards the bridge only to see it starting to move its direction, getting away from the the island with the purple book.

“No!”, she shouted, running with all her speed, trying not to fall as the ground shook.

Vána heard the seekers that were following her at distance now getting closer to her at full speed and wasted no time to use her whirlwind Sprint shout to evade them before jumping to the bridge, dashing away in its direction, unsheating Dawnbreaker to fend against the tentacles coming from the dark waters and attempting to strike her down.

She could hear Hermaeus Mora barking some orders and perhaps even threats to her way, but Vána was focused on her objective and evading every spell or attack in her direction. And as she raised her left hand to touch the book, she felt one of the tentacles grabbing one of her legs, earning a small suprise sound from her as the Last Dragonborn fell to the ground.

The tentacle lost no time in pulling her away from the book, and dread filled Vána’s heart for a second before she cleared her head enough to take action, thrusting Dawnguard to the ground with all her strength, turning her head at the tentacle’s direction.

“ _Iiz slen nuz_!”, she shouted, using the ice form shout at the tentacle, freezing so she could pull Dawnbreaker from the ground and use it to free her leg, getting to her feet as she heard a lurker coming out of the dark waters and coming towards her.

Only one chance. She only had one chance and she wouldn’t lose it. She got to her feet and opened the book, as quickly as she could. And as Vána opened the book, it shone brightly enough that the nord had to shield her eyes with her left hand from the light.

And the last thing she rememebered was hearing to Hermaeus Mora’s angry shouts as she lost her counsciousness, being dragged inside the book.


	2. Chapter 2

Taking a deep breath, Vána opened her eyes, her lungs still straining to get enough air as her body still suffered from the uneasy pressure she felt whenever she travaled among planes. She could only hope this was the last time she would had to undergo in such situation. ‘Damn portals and plane travels!’, was all she could think with her mind still not working properly.

Her eyes had been assaulted with sunlight coming from the breaches between tall trees, and after spending so much time in Apocrypha, the clarity hurted the nord’s vision, forcing the nord to blink many times until she got used to the daylight.

The Last Dragonborn was still out of breath, taking deep and shallow breaths, struggling to sit as all of her senses were being bombarded with different sounds and smells, the feeling of grass beneath her sweaty body covered by the furs and metal plates of her armor, with every sensation all too alien to Vána as she had been prived from the mortal realm. It was all too much to her and Vána felt like fainting.

It was too hot and the heavy furs were making her sweat beneath her armor and the nord took off her helmet, taking her snow-colored hair from her forehead, feeling it sticking to her face and neck.

She needed air. And water. And rest. And to know where in Oblivion she had landed, for as her blue eyes gazed around the nord wasn’t able to recognize the forest she landed into.

Clearly, she thought to herself, the forest wasn’t in Skyrim’s territory. If the temperature was of any indication, Vána had been to every single corner of her homeland province during her quests and travels ever since she discovered she was the legendary Dragonborn, and she was sure she would recognize this place if she had ever been there. Nor was it in Solstheim or even in Bruma, the only imperial city she went to in search of her biological father before getting caught in a ruse between the Imperial Legion and the Stormcloaks that led her being almost executed in Helgen.

No, this place was somewhere else.

Thinking about the tales of Valenwood which Sindri often told about during their conversations, Vána could only guess that maybe she had been transported to the bosmeri province. She wasn’t really sure, but the forest matched some of Sindri’s descriptions. And if that was the case, if she truly had landed in the middle of Valenwood’s sacred forest... Vána knew she had to be careful as she was aware that many sections of the forest were now under Thalmor control, and they always made sure to demonstrate their distaste for the Last Dragonborn.

Before Vána managed to muster her strength to get into her feet, she heard some movement among the trees, getting her on alert, turning her head around in search of whatever was moving nearby.

As a hunter, the nord always prouded herself for her tracking skills, but Skyrim’s woods were not like the forest she now found herself in and Vána couldn’t point out the exact location from where she felt the movement as the forest itself felt alive around her, with different sounds coming from everywhere. It wouldn’t help to attempt catching any glimpse of whoever or whatever was there as the green sea of trees camuflated its habitants beneath its leafs.

Muttering the words of aura whisper, Vána localized two squirrels climbing a tree, carrying their food to their nest. There were also some birds nearby and even a deer not too far from the spot the nord was sitting while drenching in her sweat. She detected mostly unharmful animals.

And two mers who were readening their arrows in her direction.

The Last Dragonborn barely had time to roll and avoid the arrows, cursing under her breath as she putted back her helmet to avoid getting shot on her head and forced herself to her feet, running at the direction of a tree so as to hide from their shots.

‘By Ysmir’s beard!’, Vána thought to herself, also thinking about using one of her shouts as she heard the pull of the bows’ strings readening more arrows in her direction before changing her mind and giving up on the idea. If these were bosmers who worked for the Thalmor and she used her Thu’um, she may as well place a marker over her own head as the silver-haired nord was sure the Thalmor agentes from all across Tamriel knew about the Dragonborn living in Skyrim and equally sought for her head.

She couldn’t afford risking herself being recognized, not at that moment, for that forest was still unknown to her. The Dragonborn wasn’t Skyrim and she knew not where to find a safe place in case she had to hide from the Aldmeri forces should they come after her. And so, left with not other options, Vána ducked away behind some trees just as more arrows were shot in her direction, crouching so as not to stay on the sights of her attackers.

Readening her own bow, the Dragonborn whispered once more her aura whisper “shout” as its effect had already gone, wanting to know the exactly location of the elves. As she located them and three more who came to their reinforcement, Vána caught herself wondering if those bosmers were actually agents of the Thalmor. There was also a possibility that they were members of some random clan or perhaps just some ordinary bandits.

The Dragonborn caught herself thinking about Sindri, about the tales of his clan and she wondered if these elves were like the ones of her friends clan, members of the resistance, fighting to protect their territory from someone who, from all they knew, could be an invader trying to hurt them. Should this be the case, they were not truly her enemies, and so, Vána decided against killing them.

However, it didn’t mean she would just let them shot her without doing nothing. Instead of going for their heads, she aimed at one of the bosmers on his knee, taking the advantage of her position and the effect of the aura whisper she used a little before.

With a precision that would make Hircine proud if the silver-haired nord was one of his followers, Vána’s arrow went right into the bosmer’s knee, piercing and burning his flesh, due to Auriel’s bow Sun damage, causing him to fall from where he stood with a loud groan of pain. Another bosmer at his side crouched to probably aid the wounded elf and the Drabonborn ducked away once more, already preparing for her next shot as she saw the silhouettes of the reinforcements aiming their arrows at where she was hidding.

“I have no desire of fighting you!”, she shouted from where she was, hoping they would see some reason, which she doubted but still hoped for, “But if you keep attacking me I’ll have to hurt you!”

The answer came in an unknown language she did not recognize. It wasn’t like she spoke the merish language or any of its dialects, but there were some words that even the most illiterate of humans knew, specially after the times of the Great War against the Aldmeri Dominion, and having spent her last four two years traveling with two elves, both a bosmer and a dunmer with they own unique accents and dialects, Vána surely would have recognized at least a few words if the language these elves spoke was the elven language she was used to hear back in Skyrim.

Was this some local dialect¿ It was hard for her to believe so, as even Sindri’s dialect had many words from common merish origin, the same being truth for Raven Rock’s unique dialect in Solstheim or the dunmeri language that those in the Grey Quarter used to speak among themselves.

Something was wrong and yet the Dragonborn could not identify what it was exactly that gave her an uneasy feeling after listening to this unknown language.

But at least they hadn’t shooted any arrow at her direction for the moment, giving her time to breathe.

The temperature of the forest was no help at all, as Vána wasn’t used to higher temperatures. Even Raven Rock, with its ashen shores wasn’t exactly a warm place thanks to the cold wind coming from the mountains. How she longed for a nice bath and some cold ale. But it would all have to wait until she settled this situation.

Checking for her assaulters from her hidding spot, the nord saw none of them as once more the effect of her shout was gone. If they saw the antlers adorning her helmet as she checked her surroundings she was not sure, but very glad that, if that was the case, they didn’t attack her again.

‘Thanks, Kyne’, the Dragonborn thought, ready to shot them should the need arise as she risked leaving the protection of the trees, her gazing searching for any suspicious movement before she muttered the words of aura whisper once more.

She saw their ghostly sillhouettes hiding behind trees, seemingly talking among themselves. There was a new presence among the five previous elves, and the wounded one was still groaning from the pain on his knee as his ally tended to his bleeding.

Taking a deep breath, Vána decided to speak to them, praying to all of the Divines that they continued to not shot at her. It was a risk, she knew it, as there was no way she could know for sure if they weren’t agents of the Thalmor, but something deep inside her, a feeling that the nord couldn’t quite name told her that those were not members of the Aldmeri Dominion. It was the same feeling of uneasiness she felt when she first heard them speaking in that unknown language.

“I come in peace!”, she said, already thinking about how Miraak would say that she was horrible at her speech skills, “I’m... I’m lost here and I’m sorry if I tresspassed your clan’s territory!”

Vána saw as their sillhouttes left their hidding spots and she was able to make out their forms clearly, no longer having to depend on the effects of aura whisper to dectect the elves locations.

On the middle of the group of archers stood an elf with crossed arms, dressed with a curious armor that seemed to actually be made of different parts of different armors, displaying three emblems over the leather armor covering his chest and a red bandana hidding the right side of his face.

His only visible eye, green as the forests’ leaves that surrounded them, stared right at her blue ones in an intense gaze. The very presence of this elf emaneted authority and Vána had no doubts that he was the leader of this group of elves.

He took the Dragonborn by surprise as he clapped his hands in a mock appreciation she didn’t catch at first glance.

“Impressive, I must say... Never saw a dh’oine so good with a bow.”

Vána had to blink a few times, taken aback with the compliment, specially as it didn’t feel like a compliment at all as the mer’s voice seemed to be dripping with sarcasm and even disdain for the Dragonborn.

“I...”, she started, not knowing exactly what to say and feeling like punching herself for appearing so pathetic in front of potential foes, “I mean you...”

“No harm”, said the elf, cutting her words before the nord finished her sentence, “Yes, we already heard you on the first two times you said this”

“Then...”, Vána started again, trying to sound more firm again, “As to prove my words truth, I’ll sheath my bow and arrow”, continued her, proud for sounding more sure of herself as she did exactly what she said she would, never turning her gaze away from that single green eye which also never stopped watching her every move.

With a small movement of his right hand, the elf signaled for his men to lower their own bows and Vána couldn’t help but take a small breath of relief at the sight. Should they decided to attack her this time, she would had no choice but to use her Thu’um and the Dragonborn was glad it wasn’t going to be the case.

“Gods be praised.”, whispered Vána to herself before adressing the elves again, “As I said... I am lost in this forest. My arrival here was... Quite a troubled one. I wonder if you could help me by telling me which part of Valenwood I find myself in so I can make my way back to my homeland.”

The elf commander furrowed his eyebrowns while hearing her words, glancing to his archers who were also staring at each other seemingly all confused by her words.

“Valenwood¿”, asked the elf with the red bandana over his face, “Where the hell is this supposed to be¿ You’re in Flotsam forest, dh’oine girl.”, continued him, now making Vána furrow her eyebrowns a little with the word he used to call her. He had said that same word before and yet she knew not its meaning... But if the distaste in his voice meant anything, Vána had the idea it was probably something like the word “n’wah” the dunmer used whenever they addressed an outlander.

“Forgive me... But... What do you mean that this isn’t Valenwood¿”, asked the Dragonborn, taking one step in their directions, only to halt her movements as she saw the archers pulling the strings of their bows, ready to shot her should she take another step foward, “Is this... Flotsam forest in Cyrodiil, then¿”, asked her again, only to receive more confused stares at her direction.

“What are you talking about, you crazy dh’oine¿ Are you drunk or on fisstech¿”, came the question from the elf commander.

Shaking her head, Vána got the uneasy feeling from before, knowing that something there was very wrong but still not knowing what it was.

“No, I’m not drunk... And I’m afraid I don’t even know what’s this fisstech.”, she said, narrowing her gaze, “Look... All I want is to go back to Skyrim, and if you tell me which direction I must take, by Shor’s bones I promise to leave your Flotsam forest for good.”

Vána got no answer after speaking, hearing one of the archers muttering to each other, asking who was Shor and what or where the hell was Skyrim, which only made the nasty feeling in her guts get worse. Vána felt anxious in a way she hadn’t felt ever since she went to the Summit of Apocrypha to face Miraak and his dragons.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the one-eyed elf beated her to it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dh’oine. Whether you’re crazy or just an idiot it matters not, however. Leave this place at once and don’t ever come back here unless you seek to die by our arrows.”, he said, almost barking at his last words as he threathened her.

“Wait... Please..!”, Vána took one step foward, not realizing her mistake until the archers took aim at her direction and shooted their arrows with no warning from their side, and with no other option, Vána used her become ethereal shout, surviving the arrows that passed by her now ethereal form.

“ _Feim zii gron_!”

Her Thu’um was strong, even Paarthunax and Odahviing once told her. Miraak himself had had to admit hers was stronger than his own. And the force of her Voice shook the leaves surrounding her and the elves, who stared in shock at her ethereal body until she became solid once more.

The elven leader was gaping at the Dragonborn, his one eye widened and his authoritive broken in a mix of awe and confusion. He cursed something in his unknown language before finding his voice to speak.

“What... What in heavens are you¿”, came his question.

And somehow, his lack of knowledge about her being the Dragonborn was the last missing clue for Vána to realize that she really wasn’t in Valenwood and neither in Cyrodiil. In fact, at that moment, she realized she wasn’t in Nirn at all.

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A hundred years prior to the arrival of the white-haired woman that Iorveth found in the forest, during the Conjuction of the Spheres, a cataclysmic event that changed the whole world once ruled by elves, dwarves and a few other races, creatures came from other worlds, including humans themselves.

It was a story that everyone knew. Every race told to their younglings their own sides and versions of the history. For the elven race, the Aen Seidhe, it had been the beginning of their downfall, the lost of their freedom over their own world.

Many prophetized that a new Conjuction of the Spheres was soon to take place, but it never seemed to be more than just some overly religious men and women talk, one that Iorveth never cared to listen closely as he dreaded the idea of more dh’oines or parasitic creatures such as vampires to arrive in his world. The Aen Seidhe already had enough trouble surviving their previous invadors.

No, he never cared about these stories, he already had too much to worry about, and neither he believed that traveling between worlds was something possible for him to see during his lifetime... And elves have quite the lifespan.

That’s it... He didn’t believe in any of this until he saw that silver-haired dh’oine shouting unknown words, making all the leaves around them shake with the power of her voice and becaming ethereal as the arrows of his archers passed through her ghostly image before she returned to normal.

At first he had taken her for a crazy dh’oine, a foreigner most likely, as he could not point out from where she came with that heavy accent of hers, and probably a drunkard or an addicted, speaking random names of places that didn’t exist such as Skyrim and Valenwood, but that kind of magic he saw her perfoming... He had never seem it before. By the Gods, he doubted it even existed anywhere on Continent.

And for that, Iorveth felt scared at that moment. Scared in a way he haven’t felt in a hundred of years of his long and arduous life.

Was she even a dh’oine to begin with¿ He doubted it. A sorceress more likely. And a powerful one. He had seen the damage of her arrow into the flesh o fone of his Scoia’tael, how the skin burned with the arrowhead thrusted into his flesh. At first, he thought that perhaps she had used some sort of component over the arrowhead to achieve this kind of damage, but now Iorveth was having second thoughts about his first impression.

A powerful sorceress from another world. Could his life get any more complicated¿ Wasn’t it enough all the problems he had dealing with the Blue Stripes and the Order of the Flaming Rose¿

There was a part of him, the scared part which knew not what to do in this situation, that wished to send a rain of arrows at that woman’s direction. However, the more racional part of his brain reminded him of what just happend (as if he could forget it so easily at the first place) and how their weapons didn’t even make a scratch on her.

Taking a deep breath and forcing his mouth shut after his shocked reaction, Iorveth signaled for his archers to low their bows. He may not know what exactly she was, but one thing he knew for sure: that woman was powerful. And he was no fool to attack her again when she stated she had no ill intentions towards them.

They didn’t answer to his silente order at once, maybe still stunned by what they saw, but one angry glare from him made them come back to themselves, finally lowering their weapons.

Iorveth saw as the woman take a small sigh of relief when she saw them backing down from their previous threat, and he had to make some effort as to not sigh in relief too once he realized she wasn’t going to retaliate them.

“You...”, he started to say, without actually knowing what to say, at word loss after what he witnessed, “What... Who are you¿”

“Glad to know we can actually talk now without your men shooting arrows at my face.”, said the woman with her heavy and foreign accent, “My name is Vána... And I... I believe that I’ve come from another world, if your lack of familiarity with the names from the provinces of Tamriel is of any indication. That and my own unfamiliarity with this Flotsam Forest I’m in.”

Centuries of hidding his emotions behind an unbreakable mask of authority and apathy were all it took for Iorveth to hide his shock as he heard the woman – Vána, as she said it was her name – say that she came from a different world. Not that he had any doubts anymore, all things considered so far, but hearing it out loud made reality even more real.

He glanced at his companions, all froze with fear and searching for his eye, asking silently what they should do. An answer he could not give to them, not at that time.

“And you say you are lost... That your arrival here was quite the troubled one”, said Iorveth, forcing his voice to remain the more stable he could.

“Yes, I did”, answered the woman.

“Care to tell us more about your arrival here¿”

“Hm... It could be a good idea, but first I must ask... If you would be kind enough to give me some water to drink. The heat of this forest is... Not at all what I’m used to and it’s been quite some time since I drank anything.”, finished her, with a heavy sigh passing through her lips.

“That...”, he started, stopping for a moment to think before continuing, “...Yes, you may come with us to our camp. There you can drink your water and tell me more about how you came to this world.”

“Thank you.”, she said with a tiny and kind smile,”Sir...¿”

“Iorveth. And I’m no lord to be called a ‘sir’”, reprimended the elf.

With a nod of her head, Vána seemed to take his words into consideration.

“Very well, Iorveth. Lead the way.”

Before, when Iorveth first heard the woman speak, she seemed lost and perhaps even a little insecure, althought now, knowing a little better, he could deem it was due her confusion of truly being lost in a different world from her own. Yet, now when she spoke, Vána spoke with autorithy in her voice and no traces of insecurity in her heavy accented words, and in a way, his mind went straight to the Virgin of Aerdin as he analyzed it. He knew not why he suddenly felt as if the two women had something in common due to the way they spoke even if he couldn’t ignore said feeling of a certain familiarity. Perhaps he was still in awe due to recent events, or perhaps it was the fact that both women were strong and powerful and they knew it enough so their words carried their strength as they pronounced them to those around to listen.

Whoever this Vána was, however, she could never come close to Saskia the Dragonslayer and future queen of Upper Aerdin or so the Gods help him.

Of that the old elf was sure.

Jumping from his spot over the trunk of a fallen tree next to where she now stood, Iorveth changed his attention to his fellow Scoia’tael once more, trusting them enough to do something in case the white-haired woman tried to do any harm to him as he turned his back to her to speak with his men (even if they would probably be unable to actually stopping her should she decided to attack them all).

“Vresoi, Aethla... You two help Erniar.”, he ordered, speaking in the common tongue before changing to the elven language, “Endrede, Cemmid... Stay alert as we walk back to our camp. Watch this woman’s every movement and don’t hesitate should you feel threathened.”

He could feel blue eyes of the color of a clear day sky staring at his back as he spoke in his mother language, probably wondering what orders he was giving to his fellow squirrels, and before he had time to turn his face towards her again, Cemmid called his attention.

“But... Iorveth...”, said the younger elf, in their ancient language, “W-What can we do i four arrows can’t even hit her¿”

Sighting, the one-eyed elf turned his back to the others, his single green eye examinating the silver-haired woman.

“We do what we always do...”, came his own answer, still in elven tongue, “We fight and we do out best to survive.”, finished him as he too finished examinating the stranger, her long and white-hair so alien to these lands he knew with only individuals touched by magic or mutation having such unique hair colour. He also noticed how she was having a little trouble to breath, probably tired, even though she managed to fool his fellow Scoia’tael very well with her unbreakable façade. Her skin glistened with sweat beneath her heavy armor made of furs that clearly belongged to some animal meant to live where it snows.

She wasn’t lying then when she said she wasn’t used to the heat if she too hailed from the same place of origin of the furs in her armor.

It also didn’t pass unnoticed to him how the details of her bow reminded him of ancient elven craftsmanship althought it was still unique in its details, nor he did pass by his attentif gaze how the golden sword at her hip glowed slightly and seemed to emmanate a heat of its own. Outwordly magic, for sure, he thought to himself. He surely would ask about these items she had with her once they reached their camp.

“Let’s go.”, said Iorveth at last, in the common tongue, starting to walk to the Scoia’tael hiddout.


	3. Chapter 3

Vána strode after Iorveth and his men, cursing under her breath as she tripped here and there, unused to the type of vegetation of the forest they were in. She could sense that the one-eyed elf often glanced at her direction, assessing her, examinating her every move as he surely didn’t trust her enough to not kill them as they led her to their camp.

A wise thing for him to do, she mused to herself, as the Dovahkiin didn’t completely trust these bosmers either even if they had agreed on lending her some help for the time being. There was some sort of tension in their eyes whenever one of the bosmers checked her, and something in her mind told her that it’s wasn’t because of her earlier shout (at least, not only because of it).

In fact, now that she reflected more about them, Vána wasn’t quite sure if it was right for her to call them bosmers. Their eyes were clearly different from the eyes of the wood elves she met in Skyrim, much more like human eyes rather than merish, and their bows and arrows were made of wood, something no bosmer would ever do unless they desired to break the rules of the Green Pact and condemn themselves upon the eyes of Y’ffre and the forest itself.

There was no conversation along the way, and so the nord was left with her own thoughts, unable to contain herself from admiring the beauty of the scenery even if she still hold quite a distate for the heat which made left her short of her breath and drenching of sweat. She longged for a nice bath, althought she dreamed not in asking for such thing as the idea of exposing herself among people – no, the idea of exposing herself to _men_ she didn’t know nor trusted was not exactly a good one to her.

Thankfully they didn’t have to walk for a long time as Iorveth came to stop in his track next to the entrance of a hidden cave which Vána was sure she would had walked past were she not in their company.

A hiddeout, she noticed, wondering why were they hidding on that place.

Turning his gaze towards her direction for a moment, Iorveth changed his attention to one of his men – Endrede, if she caught everyone’s names correctly.

“Go grab some waterskin and bring it to our new guest... And tell the others to prepare some medications for Erniar’s wound.”, he ordered, and Vána couldn’t help but feel a not forming in her stomach as she watched Endrede leaving to do as he was ordered and the others entered the cave, helping Erniar to get inside of it.

“Erniar’s wound... Right, it’s my fault that his leg is wounded.”, she thought to herself before approaching Iorveth, caughting his attention as his single eye turned to her direction just as he was starting to walk towards the entrance again. “I... I wish to apologize...”

“For what¿”, he asked, narrowing his eye.

“For harming one of your men, of course... Though I only did what I had to do in order to not get killed by you.”

“Tsk... Save your apologies. As you said, you did what you had to do to survive.”, came his voice, his tone sour under his comprehensive words.

Nodding, Vána sighed briefly before talking again.

“Let me help his leg’s injury. As the one who harmed him... After you placed enough trust in me as to bring me to your camp, I feel a little indebted.”

“And how exactly do you plan on helping him¿”, Iorveth questioned her, his green eye ever attentive to her every move.

“Well, I wouldn’t count myself as some expert in restauration magic but I do know some basic healing spells that could help.”, said the Dovahkiin, shrugging nonchalantly, seeing as Iorveth couldn’t help himself as he widened his eye a little, only for a fraction of a second.

“So you are a sorceress.”, he stated, not actually asking.

“Mage¿ No, I wouldn’t say so... I only know some basic spells from restauration and alteration magic schools thanks to my shield-brothers.”

“Shield-brothers¿”, questioned him again before shaking his head a little, “So you mean you can use magic but you won’t call yourself a sorceress.”

“Uhm... Yes. I mean, not everyone needs to be a mage to know some basic spells, you know.”, explained the Dragonborn, sighing in relief as she took off her helmet, tired of it as she felt that she was now at a safe place and with no one trying to shot an arrow at her – very sticky and sweaty – face.

“You talk in a way as if magic was something natural from where you hence from.”, said the elf, and Vána noticed as he examined her face, taking the opportunity as she took off her helmet, allowing him to actually see her features without her heavy antlered helmet hidding them.

“And you as if it is not the case here.”, was all she said, ignoring his gaze before he stopped to assess her as the nord took her snow-white hair from her forehead.

“Because it’s not.”, Iorveth said, turning his back to her as he started to walk into the cave, “Come, if you think you can help him with you ‘basic healing spells’, then by all means, be my guest...”

With a brief pout in her lips due to the elf’s tone, Vána set off to follow him, glancing around as her eyes inspected the place, feeling all the gazes of every elf living there in her direction as she passed by them, being led by Iorveth himself to where his men had left Erniar to rest.

He was still groaning from pain, and Vána could feel the not in her stomach tightening at the sight. The Sun burn effect of Auriel’s bow could make quite the damage, specially at the hands of a good archer... Which, in all honest, was the case of the Dovahkiin.

Her eyes met the eyes of the wounded elf and she gave him a small and sympathetic smile before crouching at his side.

“I apologize, Erniar...”, she told the elf, lowering her gaze for a moment, feeling a little ashamed, “I’ll cast a healing spell to fix what I did to you earlier, alright¿”, finished the nord, resting her helmet at her side to raise both of her hands at his direction, remembering Venalir’s lessons about how dual casting could be much more effective.

She noticed how Erniar’s eyes went to Iorveth, who stood with his arms crossed at their side, in a silente question to whether or not he should let her cast any spell on him. And Vána waited for Iorveth’s permission, seeing him nodding at her before she felt her magicka concentrating on her hands that glowed with the golden light of her healing hands spell before casting it on the wounded elf laying on the floor.

All eyes around her widened to what they were witnessing and Erniar’s gave a surprised yelp as he felt what Vána always described as a tickling sensation which came as a result of any healing spell or potion.

The Dragonborn noticed at the corner of her eyes as hands went straight to their weapons as the elves heard the startled yelp from their companion, but all hands halted as their eyes noticed how the skin of Erniar’s leg mended itself as the golden light of Vána’s spell encircled his body, leaving not even a single scar where just a few moments before he was burned due to Auriel’s bow burning affect.

However, as soon as Vána broke her spell, she felt exhausted to the point where she had to support herself with her hands on the floor, almost passing out, feeling deft and strong came to her help – Iorveth’s she realized – aiding her as she sat and rested her back against the cave wall, recovering herself as he took his distance from her again.

Something was wrong with her, but the Dragonborn felt lightheaded and couldn’t think straight to found out the reason to it. She blamed her tiredness, the heat and even her thirsty for it. It wasn’t really advisable for someone not as experienced as her with magic to cast spells in such state.

“Where’s the waterskin I asked for¿”, barked Iorveth, his voice always sounding authoritative and this time even louder than it should as Vána’s head started to pound.

Vána didn’t noticed when someone brought to her some waterskin, only realizing what was giving to her hands after a few seconds of delay. She drank all the water, almost with no stop for breathing, relieved to be able to drink something after spending who knows how much time in Apocrypha, with no drinks or food to consume, and the water did help her feel better, if only a little bit.

There was long silence (or perhaps not so long, if her mind were to start playing tricks with her) before she heard Iorveth’s voice again.

“You should rest for now. Whatever happened that brought you here clearly must have had some effect to your body. We shall speak once you’re wake.”, he said, and Vána heard him and the others leaving her alone where she stood, her eyes struggling to remain open as she thought the tiredness she felt.

She didn’t want to sleep. She couldn’t sleep. Not in a place where she didn’t know if she could really trust the men around her as she was to be helpless in her sleep, vulnerable for anyone to try anything with her or her body.

She couldn’t. She shouldn’t...

Yet her body and her mind were tired from everything she had been through and the nord ended up sleeping, back against the cold wall of the cave as all the sounds were muffled as her counsciousness drifted away to the dream realm.

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Piles upon piles of books rested over all the Arcanaeum at the College of Winterhold, as Sindri and Miraak read page after page of every grimoire, scroll or book they came across that was related to the realms of Oblivion and the daedric prince Hermaeus Mora himself, while Venalir had set sail to Solstheim in order to ask for the help of the old Telvanni mage Neloth.

The trio had been searching for the course of four months for any lead that could help them to get to Apocrypha and save the Last Dragonborn from Mora’s grasp. For the first time ever since they saw Vána tossing the Black Books into the ocean at the shores of Solstheim, they all felt it had been the worst idea they ever had.

It took quite the persuasion for Urag gro-Shub to allow the pair to make their researches at the Arcanaeum large collection of books, but thanks Sindri’s good relations with the members of the College, as he often participated in their analysis over dwemer technology and culture, the Archmage Anmir, a peculiar female dunmer who took the place of the previous Archmage after his awful death, managed to convince the keeper of the Arcanaeum to grant them the permission to mess up the whole library in exchange of some of the knowledge that Miraak gathered during his long imprisonment in Apocrypha. And everytime Sindri glanced towards the orc, he felt the hatred glare in their direction due to their treatment towards the books, which only made him sigh.

He was tired. Not that Sindri had any desire of giving up, for he absolutely had none. He wanted to help his friend as he couldn’t afford losing anyone anymore, having already lost his clan back in Valenwood, Vána and Venalir became his new family, together with Miraak who he also started to consider a part of their merry band after all the time he had been traveling with them. And from the looks of Miraak’s face as he desperatly searched for anything that could help them, from the Atmoran’s hand trembling from tiredness and fear from what he knew Hermaeus Mora could be doing to the Last Dragonborn, Sindri knew that Miraak too couldn’t afford losing Vána too.

It was no secret nor news to neither the bosmer or the dunmer that Miraak held strong feelings towards their silver-haired friend, even though Vána always seemed a little oblivious to the subtle stares Miraak gave in her direction quite often when she wasn’t looking. Neither Venalir or Sindri knew if those feelings were reciprocate from Vána’s part, nor they knew if Miraak wished to expose his affections as he never acted upon them, only allowing himself to show his care for her whenever he believed no one was paying attention.

If that was the case, of him wanting to hide his feelings, after Vána was kidnapped, he started to fail miserably at it. It was obvious to everyone around him that he was desperate to save Vána. Miraak was devote to his quest, not taking care of himself, getting to the point where Sindri had often to force him to eat or even take a bath.

The bosmer wasn’t even sure when was the last time he managed to make the Atmoran take a break as the human was still wearing the same clothes he borrowed from the College mages from the last time he washed. Examining Miraak, Sindri noticed his now grown beard uncared just like his blond hair, braided without care and probably with many nots, the bags under his blue eyes and his pale complexion from his lack of sleep and eating.

He was looking like an undead, ready to colapse at anytime.

That he was still standying was a miracle to Sindri, and probably to everyone else there. But knowing Miraak as he did, even if it was just a little, the bosmer know that the source of the First Dragonborn’s strength came from the love he felt for the woman he once swore to kill to free himself from Hermaeus Mora.

The irony of destiny, the Sindri thought, turning his attention towards the entrance of the Arcanaeum as he heard some steps.

One of the apprentices of the College, the dunmer called Brelyna, came to the bringing a tray of food and drinks to both Sindri and Miraak, and Sindri couldn’t help himself when he heard his stomach grumbling at the sight and smell of fresh food.

“The Archmage thought you two might’ve been hungry after been stuck here for so many hours...”, said the dunmer girl, crouching to their level and placing tray she carried next to Sindri and Miraak’s sitting spot.

Miraak too focused on what he was reading and Sindri, hungry as he was, didn’t even answer to Brelyna as he started to shove chicken meat to his own mouth.

Brelyna only smiled at the bosmer’s direction, who gave her another in return as turned away to leave the Arcaneaum and he continued to eat as if there was no tomorrow before realizing that Miraak haven’t touched any of the food and turned his gaze to the Atmoran.

“Miraak...”, Sindri started to say, stopping for a moment as he cleared his throat, taking his time, not knowing what to say as he assessed the state of the human in front of him, “You should take a break for a while. Brelyna brought us some food... You must be hungry after...”

“Take a break¿”, Miraak barked, his voice louder than Sindri thought possible at his condition, turning his head to the bosmer’s direction to glare at him, “How can I take a break knowing too well what Hermaeus Mora could be doing to Vána¿ She’s been imprisioned there for four months! Four months!”, continued the Atmoran, raising even more his voice.

That made Sindri narrow his dark eyes, unpleased with the way Miraak spoke, as if suggesting he wasn’t caring for Vána only because he decided to take breaks sometimes.

“You think you’re the only one whe care about her¿”, snapped the bosmer, too tired to have to deal with Miraak’s sudden tantrum, “Well, let me tell you something: you are not! Vána is my family... And I have no desire of losing my family a second time. But if we don’t stop to take care of ourselves, if we don’t stop to eat or even sleep, how do you think we’re supposed to do anything if we look like we’re going to colapse onto the floor as soon as a strong wind blows into our direction¿ Because, honestly, that’s exactly how you’re looking like right now!”

Sindri’s tone clearly affected the Atmoran as the bosmer saw Miraak’s expression change from anger to something close to guilty in a matter of seconds. The human lowered his gaze to the ground, staring into nothing, and Sindri saw from the corner of his eyes that Urag gru-Shrub was pretending to not be paying attention to their discussion as he haven’t turned the page of the book in his hands.

“Why is that most elders enjoy to listen and watch others discussions¿”, the bosmer thought to himself, shaking his head a little before forcing his mind to focus on the human in front of him again.

“It’s my fault... All of this...”, said Miraak, his voice trembling as he spoke, “She trade her soul for the power to defeat me... Because I... I...”

“Yeah, I know.”, Sindri spoke, cutting Miraak’s broken sentences and trying to sound the gentles he could as the Atmoran was already shaken enough, “But there’s nothing we can to change the past now. And we won’t be able to do anything either if we don’t take care of ourselves...”, continued the bosmer, meeting Miraak’s blue gaze, “We will find something... Some solution. If not here... Maybe Vem’s going to find out something with the old mage Neloth, for as annoying that guy is he truly is one of the most powerful mages of all Tamriel.”

Sighing and rubbing his face with both hands, Miraak didn’t answer to Sindri or even nodded at him, giving no indications to whether he believed the bosmer’s words or if he was still blaming himself while planning on his possible penances so he would be punished for all his past mistakes.

It must have been physically straining for someone so proud like Miraak recognize all the evil he once did, no matter what were his intentions at the time he did it, thought the bosmer, glad as he saw Miraak finally taking a bite of a piece of bread.

And perhaps... Perhaps Miraak actually deserved to suffer from what he did. But not at that moment.

He had to stay strong, for the sake of Vána. They all needed Miraak’s help if they wanted to save her, and for that, Sindri was going to do everything he could to make sure the Atmoran would preserve his strength for when the time came for them to act and rescue the Last Dragonborn from Hermaeus Mora’s realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 chapter in a row woooow  
> the word count is definetly my personal record
> 
> I have no idea about when I update the fourth chapter, but I do plan to keep on writing this fic as I'm having a lot of fun with it  
> never planned to post it but my friends encouraged me so here it is :D


	4. Chapter 4

Vána woke up startled, opening her eyes at once as she looked at her surroundings, trying to recognize where she was, sighing once she realized that she was still trapped in a world that was not her own.

Fumbling her armor, she checked for any indications of someone having touched her or trying to take one of her things, pleased to realize they left her alone just the way she ended up sleeping.

Her body was a little sore from the position she slept and Vána stretched herself, feeling every joint of her body popping with the action.

As she finished stretching, all the last events came to her mind, from her group descending into Irkngthand ruins where Hermaeus Mora attacked her and her shield-brothers, to the moment she passed out in the cave after healing the elf she had wounded with her arrow.

Holding onto her Talos amulet, Vána stared at the ceiling of the cave, in a silente prayer to all of the nine Divines, wondering how she was ever going to return to her world, to Skyrim, where her people waited for her return.

“You awake¿”, came a male voice, bringing her back to reality from her thoughts.

She looked at the direction from which came the voice, her blue eyes recognizing Erniar, the elf she first attacked and later healed before passing out... yesterday¿ She wasn’t even sure how long she must have slept.

“Good, Iorveth was starting to think you had died.”, said him again, not waiting for her reply as he resumed to walk towards her, “Here, take this.”, continued him, handind her a small bowl of soup, “You must be starving...”

Vána couldn’t help herself and smiled as she took the bowl pot from his hands, briefly analising his leg, glad to see him well.

“Thank you, Erniar.”, she said, before started to drink her soup – not the best one she had had, but nonetheless, she surely wasn’t going to complain, “Oh, and... If it’s not too much to ask... Wouldn’t you have any set of spare clothes for me to use¿ I’m sticking under my armor and I can’t really stand this heat.”

“Uhm... Yeah, sure. I’ll see if I find something for you.”, he answerd her, “Oh, and, Iorveth said he wished to see you after you finished eating.”

Nodding before speaking, Vána placed her empty bowl at the floor to her side.

“Very well... Where is he¿”

“He was at the entrance of the cave just a few moments ago.”, said Erniar as Vána got to her feet, going to the direction the elf gave her in order to meet Iorveth.

As she made her way to the entrance, the Dragonborn took notice of the fact that these elves were hidding. Their weapons always remained close to them, even as they ate and drank next to a small pyre that ligthened the cave, and they seemed to be ready to be on the move at any given moment.

Something or someone was after them. And she was definetly going to question Iorveth about it when the right opportunity arised, as she doubted she would be leaving this world so soon.

The Dragonborn saw the one-eyed elf just outside of the cave as she didn’t find him at the entrance like Erniar had mentioned, walking at his direction until she saw another figure talking to him, ceasing her steps.

A bulky and bald man with an ugly scar on his head and yellow catlike eyes which met her blue ones at the moment she halted her movements.

Iorveth, realizing that the man he was speaking with no longer payed attention to him, turned around to check what had caught the other man’s attention. The man in question had a shade of a smile over his lips, and not a nice or gentle one, no, there was something malicious in his expression.

“So... This is the woman you squirrels found at the forest.”, said the man to Iorveth, yet still staring at the nord.

“Yes, it is the woman we found.”, answered Iorveth, his tone always a stern one.

Altought she was not invited to join them, Vána strode in their direction with a serious expression as she assessed the bald man, her eyes lingering over his snake medallion for a moment before she stared at his eyes again.

“I see you’re feeling better.”, stated the elf to her, and Vána turned her gaze at his direction, even though she still had her senses mostly focused on the other man as he gave her an uneasy feeling.

“Indeed, I am. All thanks to you and your men... I’m indebted to your kindness.”, said the Dragonborn before gazing at the bald man again, noticing that the smile on his lips had grew wider.

“Not bad, Iorveth... Something tells me that you and your Scoia’tael had found an interesting ally.”, spoke the bald man.

“Scoia’tael¿”, asked Vána, frowning a little, turning her gaze briefly to Iorveth.

“That’s the name of our forces.”, came the answer from Iorveth.

“Forces... Fighting against what exactly¿”

Before the elf had the chance to answer, the bald man gave a small laugh, caughting the attention of the other two.

“I see you both have a lot to talk...”, he said, finally turning his gaze away from Vána, staring at Iorveth as he continued talking, “I leave alone so you can solve your matters... And I’ll be waiting at the place we agreed.”

“Fine. I’ll seek you as soon as possible with the information you need.”

And with a final nod of his head, the bald man with the serpente medallion stared at the Dragonborn once more before starting to move far from the two.

“Until we meet again.”, he said, as he walked away.

Vána didn’t answer the man, not turning her eyes away from his direction until she could no longer see him. Once she stared back at Iorveth she saw him already staring at her.

“Well¿”, he said, lifting his eyebrown.

“Well... Where should we begin¿”, questioned the Dragonborn, sighing as she made her way to sit on a fallen branch next to them, followed by Iorveth, who didn’t sit at her side.

“How about you start telling me who the hell are you and how did you came here, planeswalker¿”, asked the elf, narrowing his single eye.

Blue met green as they kept a staring at each other.

“It’s... quite a long story...”

“By all means, indulge me.”, retorted Iorveth, his expression even more sour than before – if that was even possible.

“All right... If you insist. I won’t tell you everything about me as I hope you understand that I don’t completely trust you nor your Scoia’tael yet.”, she started, earning a nod in response, sighing once more as she continued, “I come from a world called Nirn and I came here rather as an accident as I was trying to escape from... from a dangerous place in which I was being held captive.”

“Still haven’t answered how you got here.”, stated him, crossing his arms.

“Like I said... It was an accident. The place I was trapped in... The only way to escape it was via a portal and... Well, here I am now.”, spoke the Dragonborn, shrugging as she hoped her answer would suffice for the moment, which didn’t seem like it in Iorveth’s expression was of any indication, althought he didn’t pushed for anything else about her arrival, most likely knowing he wouldn’t get much out of her.

“So, that means no one else came with you¿”, asked him, caughting Vána by surprise.

“What do you mean¿”, she questioned, furrowing her eyebrowns in confusion.

“I meant what I meant. Did anyone else arrive here with you¿”, insisted the elf, the scar at the tipo f his lips making him look like he was snarling at her with his sour expression.

“No.”, she shaked her head, putting more emphasis to her answer, “I mean... I’m sure my friends are probably trying to find a way to get me home but... No, no one came here with me.”

Iorveth seemed to analyse her answer, nodding as if he had come to some conclusion she knew nothing about, making his way to sit in front of her on a small rock.

“And what about your magic¿ You claimed that you’re not a sorceress and that magic is something natural in your world. Enlighten me about it.”, he said, making a small gesture with his left hand as if encouraging her to talk.

“It’s true... Magic is something very natural in my world. As natural as breathing air, specially to the merfolk.”

“Merfolk¿”, asked him, this time being the one getting confused.

“Uhm... Mer... Elves, such as you.”

Iorveth blinked, seemingly surprised by her words.

“So there are elves in your world.”, he said, not as a question.

“Oh, yes, there are! More than one kind, mind you!”, spoke the nord, smiling a little as she saw his surprised face.

“How many kinds¿”, Iorveth asked, curious about her words.

“Well, you see... There are the bosmer, or wood elves in the common language, which are... Pretty much similar to you in some ways, althought I believe you and the others here are taller than they are. There’s also the altmer, or high elves... Very tal, golden skin and with usually with some sort of superiority complex over everyone else... Uhm... The dunmer, or dark elves... They have greyish skin, red eyes, and most are very talented in magic. ...Oh! And the orsimer... Orcs. Though... Not everyone consider them part of the mer kind.”, explained Vána, noticing how Iorveth payed attention to her every word, his face bearing a concentrated expression.

“And of which race do you belong¿”, questioned the elf, cutting off the trail of thoughts in Vána’s mind for a brief moment.

“Hm¿ Me¿ I’m a nord... A human.”, she answered sincererly, not understanding why his expressions became one of disgust.

“So you _are_ a bloede dh’oine.”

“What do you mean¿ What is a blo... blod.... This word you’ve called me before at the woods.”

“It means you’re just like the humans who came here to our forefather’s world and took it from us!”, snarled Iorveth, even gritting his teeth as he stood to his feet.

“I... What¿”, Vána standing to her feet as well, “No! No I... I don’t want to take nothing from your world! All I want is to go back to Nirn!”

“Words alone won’t prove anything, dh’oine. I know how well your kind lies.”

Narrowing her eyes, Vána took one step towards him and Iorveth approached his hand to the sword at his hip.

“Why are you so disgusted with me¿ I can see the distaste for me in your face and yet... And yet you led me here to your camp and even gave me food. Forgive me if I’m not understanding the situation very well!”

“I only brought you here because I thought...”, Iorverth started, but didn’t continue whatever he was going to say.

“You thought what¿ That I wasn’t human¿ Is that it¿”, she asked, raising one of her eyebrowns as he sighed, avoiding her gaze for a brief moment.

“Exactly. That’s what I thought.”, was his only answer.

“Why is my race so important to whether you feel like trusting me or not¿”, she insisted once more, wanting to understand the reason behind his surly expressions.

“Because you dh’oines are the cause of the downfall of my race! Do you think we always lived hiding away in caves¿”, he spatted back, raising his tone.

“No, I did not think so. I realized that you were hiding from something or someone... But it never occured me...”, she stopped, shaking her head, “Please, Iorveth... Be resonable. I can see you bear great hatred towards humans... dh’oines as you called me. But don’t you think that I, who just came here to your world at completely accident, am not to blame to what you’re saying that the humans from your world did to your people¿”

The elf said nothing, only staring at her, yet Vána sensed that he relaxed a little with her words, losing a little of his tension and the desire of pulling at her neck with his sword.

“I bear no ill intentions towards your people. And by that I don’t mean just you and your Scoia’tael, but elves as a whole. The closest thing I ever had of a family are two elves which I long to meet again back at my homeworld.”, continued the nord, noticing how he raised his eyebrown upon hearing talking about her shield-brothers, “Like I said before... I am indebted to you for your kindness. If there’s someone after you, allow me to retribute by helping find somewhere safe...”

“There’s nowhere safe in this world for an Aen Seidhe.”, said Iorveth, cutting off her sentence, but no longer bearing an angry tone.

“Even if that’s the case... Allow me to help you.”

“I do not wish your pity, dh’oine girl, nor do I need it!”, spoke him, raising his voice again.

“It’s not about pity!”, this time, she rose her voice as well, gathering all her confidence into her words and silencing Iorveth with her presence as she continued, “If what you said it’s true... If your kind is being hunted only because of who you are... Then I cannot stay idle as it happens right next to me. Even if I was not indebted to you.”

Iorveth didn’t say anything, his green eye staring straight to her blue ones, as if considering her words for a moment before giving a brief and mischiveous smile.

“Fine. Let’s see how you plan on helping us. But first... I believe you’re in dire need of a bath.”

Shocked as she heard his words, Vána couldn’t help but blushing, suddenly too self-aware at how terrible she was smelling, embarrassed that someone had pointed it out before narrowing her gaze at Iorveth’s direction for his lack of delicality.

“I’ve already asked for Erniar to bring me some spare clothes, mind you.”, she said in a serious tone, “And you, Iorveth, definetly shouldn’t speak to a woman in such manner!”, finished her, treading quickly back to the cave in order to find Erniar and the clothes she asked before finding out where she could take a bath there.

Vána thought herself to be imagining things but she thought to have heard a brief laugh coming from the elf she left as she moved away from him.

\--------------------------------------------------xxxx--------------------------------------------------

For the days that followed his conversation with the foreigner woman, Vána did kept her promise in aiding the Scoia’tael, at least in their most daily menial task, almost as if she was an integrant part their guerrilla group and not a foreigner from another world who came to their lives unexpected.

Iorveth was bound to admit that Vána had proved herself to be an exceptional hunter, aiding in their hunting parties and bringing them food as payment for her staying in their camp and eating from their provisions, after she got used to the environment of the forest and learned how to use it to her favor.

And as her armor was too heavy and hot for venturing into Flotsam’s woods, the woman choose to wear Scoia’tael clothes, having to borrow from the male elves as she was taller and more muscular than the she-elves who lived in their camp, keeping with her only the amulet of a golden hammer she weared on her neck all the time.

All the while, as Vána spent her time aiding them, she had yet to use her strange magic again, that... shout she had used during their confrontation a few days before. Not that he thought that she might’ve found herself in a situation in which she needed to use it, but Iorveth was kin into knowing more about it, haven’t had the chance to ask her more after their initial talk.

The only time when they spoke to one another basically consisted in small talking about the landscape, as Vána seemed curious to know more about the forest they were in, claiming it could benefit her in their aid, both not yet trusting each other enough to open up about anything of more importance. That and Iorveth didn’t have time to play as a host to the dh’oine for he had far more important things to deal with his and Letho’s plans.

Not that the dh’oine seemed to care much about him not giving her too much of attention as Vána appeared to be enjoying the company of some of the Scoia’tael she befriended, altought Iorveth and Vána crossed each others daily as she left and came back with the Scoia’tael hunting parties, carrying her own bow and some arrows she crafted herself, never taking the enchanted golden sword she carried with her when they first met.

Iorveth had examined her sword during one of the times Vána had left the camp to hunt for food. She had left her blade in a corner in which she had claimed for her and her belongings, and he had kept his distancenas his green eye assessed every detail of the sword, such as its faint golden light and the heat emaneting from it. He knew better so as not to touch it, as he came closer to it and felt its heat in his skin only from standing next to it, prefering to not risk himself getting burned by the blade. He could only wonder about her strange weapons, both sword and bow being able to cause burning.

At first, Iorveth had thought that it were her arrows that caused such burning damage, not that the bow itself affected the arrows, but after she deplished her quiver of the arrows she came with and started to use the ones she made from her gatherings in the woods, Iorveth realized that her arrows still had the same effect as her previous ones. Once he asked the woman about it, she only said that it was indeed the bow’s effect, but didn’t explain anything further about it.

And that too was something Iorveth was not giving up on knowing, he thought, returning to the hiddout from his reconnaissance trio with some of his fellow Scoia’tael, asthere had been sights of Blue Stripes in the area, and Iorveth had to check it for himself, confirming with his very own eye the presence of that bloede dh’oine named Vernon Roche and his men at the city of Flotsam, just as his men had told him.

Once inside the cave, Iorveth ordered for one of his men to call for reinforcements from two splitted groups he had sent to further áreas of the forest, sensing they would soon need them back with the presence of Vernon Roche and the Blue Stripes around. Soon his eye found Vána, deciding to check her as she crafted more arrows at the her resting spot, sitting upon a deer hide she had hunted a few days before so she could sleep more comfortably, He strode in her direction, wishing to see up closer her craftsmanship.

Noticing him approaching, Vána’s eyes went to Iorveth’s direction for a brief moment before going back to what she was doing.

“What to talk to me¿”, she asked him, as Iorveth sat in front of her.

“Merely wanted to watch how you dh’oine craft your arrows. They are better than the ones humans use here.”, answered Iorveth, nonchalantly.

“Are they, now¿”, she said, a shade of a amused smile crossing her lips, “You know, I’m never sure as to whether you’re complimenting or trying to offend me.”, continued her, ceasing what she was doing to focus on him, blue eyes staring straight into his green one.

As much as he didn’t like to admit, Iorveth was always a little taken aback with her gaze, from the intensity of those pair of eyes and the way she spoke, ever so sure and confidente of herself.

She seemed young to him... Very young. And considering she was a human, she probably was young due to her appearence.However, something ancient and powerful laid inside her eyes, perhaps the reason behind her unique magic and way she had being trying to escape from some place via a portal as she told him. He had being trying to get a few conclusions about Vána based on the little she had told him.

“It was a compliment...”, Iorveth started, “This time, at least”, and his words made her roll her eyes, altought Iorveth sensed she seemed amuzed by his words other than really annoyed.

“If that’s the case... Thank you, I guess.”, she said, hidding a contained laugh under her tone before resuming to work into her arrows, as they remained in something close to a comfortable silence for quite some time, with Iorveth taking some of the arrows she had already made to check them up close before turning his gaze to examine the woman herself.

Her silver hair was braided in a style that reminded him of some Skellige Isles’ women, and as he stopped to analyze her better, she could pass by someone from Skellige due to her facial traits and pale skin, or even due to her hight and muscular frame. Obviously, he mused to himself, should Vána venture into a human city she would still attract unwanted attention with the peculiar colour of her hair, but other than that, Vána’s seemed as ordinary as any other human for those who didn’t know her better.

Perhaps they could ask her to go to Flotsam to gather some resources for their travel through the Pontar Valley, althought Iorveth still had to think about how they would cross the Pontar river to get to Upper Aerdin in time to help Saskia against the forces of King Henselt of Kaedwen.

He had to get to Vergen. It was out of question for him to fail at this. His people survival could depend on their success of Saskia’s dream of an independente state in which humans and non-humans could coexist in peace, something that Iorveth had to admit to be his dream as well, for old as he was, the elf grew tired more often than not from having to live always on edge, always expecting for a dagger at his back, for this was no way of living, only of surviving.

And Iorveth was tired of having to survive.

“A penny for your thoughts¿”, asked Vána, her voice bringing Iorveth’s mind back to their present.

“What¿”, he questioned, having heard she talking but not paying attention to what she had said exaclty.

“I said... Nevermind.”, she shrugged, having placed all the arrows at her side, no longer crafting any, “You’ve been staring at me for quite some time, you know.”

“Oh...”, Iorveth blinked, turning his gaze away from her, “No, no I wasn’t exactly stating _at_ you.”

“So you were just lost in your thoughts...”, the woman stated, crossing her arms as she analyzed Iorveth’s expression.

“Yes... Just lost in my thoughts...”, he muttered, “Nothing of your concern, mind you.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”, she shrugged again, nonchalantly.

“Really, now¿”, said the elf, mimicking her and crossing his own arms, locking his eye into hers.

“As far as I can recall... Whevener we speak you’re the one interrogating me, Iorveth.”

“That’s because I know nothing about you. And I don’t like when I don’t know about those around me.”, he admitted, earning a nod from her.

“Fair enough, I believe. So, what’s that you want to ask about me¿”

“Just like this¿ Are going to answer all of my questions¿”, Iorveth asked, not truly believing in her words.

“I will, althought perhaps I won’t be willing to tell you _everything_ you want to know about me.”

“Fair enough.”, Iorveth said, mimicking her previous words, “Well then, I’m quite curious about your weapons enchantments... I remember you said to me when I asked about your arrows that it was in fact your bow’s effect that gave them this unique burning damage, which is unlike any other I have ever seen. Care to explain me more this time¿ Is it something common in your world to weapons to have this kind of enchantmen¿”

“Uhm... No. I mean... It’s not uncommon for us to enchant our weapons, but like these two weapons of mine, no, it is not.”, Vána turned her gaze away from the elf, probably wondering what she should tell him about her weapons or even if she should tell him anything at all, sighing before continuing. “Well, I don’t see any problem in telling you about my weapons. This sword...”, she said, grabing the hilt of her sword, showing it to Iorveth as she resumed to talk, “It is called Dawnbreaker.”

“Dawnbreaker, hm¿”, said Iorveth, paying attention her every word during her explanation, “I take it that for having a name, this sword is nothing of ordinary.”, continued him, watching as Vána bitted her lowerd lip for a moment, before speaking again.

“Yes, it is no ordinary sword. It’s... a relic. A daedric relic.”

“Daedric¿ What does it means¿”, asked him, raising his eyebrown.

“How about we stick to my weapons for now¿... And later on I promise to explain about the Daedra and the Aedra.”, came her idea, which Iorveth didn’t particularly enjoy but accepted nonetheless, nodding so as to encougare her to continue.

“Okay... So, I was saying, Dawnbreaker is a relic. A very powerful one. Meant to destroy undead creatures, blessed with holy fire or so to speak.”

“Blessed, hm¿”, interrupted Iorveth, “Interesting choice of word... So, does it means that these... Daedra are some sort of Gods¿”

Iorveth had no doubts about his assumption being right as he saw Vána’s surprised – even shocked – expression once she heard his words, most likely not expecting him to make such a guess only because of a single word she said.

“Yes... Yes, they are... something close to Gods.”, she said, blinking due to her surprise and with her voice a little unstable by the shock, and the elf couldn’t hold back a brief and wry smile from showing on his lips, proud of himself. He wasn’t called a “fox” for no reason.

“And what about your bow¿”, he asked, “Is it too a daedric relic¿ Is this why it also gives burning damage to your arrows¿”

“What¿”, she seemed to almost laugh at his words, “No, no... Auriel’s bow is no daedric relic, that I can tell you.”

“Another weapon with a name. Meaning it’s also something unique.”, concluded the elf, “And who the hell is this Auriel¿”.

“True again. It is a sacred bow, blessed with Sun fire damage by the ancient falmer God named Auriel... An Aedra I suppose, since to us humans, Auriel is known as Akatosh.”, the silver-haired woman explained.

Iorveth furrowd his eyebrown, starting to get confused with much information and so many different names she spoke.

“And what is, after all, the difference between these Aedra and Daedra¿”, he asked, unable to contain his voice from raising a bit, feeling frustrated for not understanding these terms she kept on using.

“Now, we agreed on sticking to the explanation about my weapons this time, didn’t we¿”

Grumbling something in elven language with his classical “bloede dh’oine”, Iorveth, still not completely pleased with the idea, agreed once more, nodding with his head as he sighed in his momentary defeat.

“Fine. We’ll continue to talk about your weapons.”, he said, rolling his eye, still annoyed, “Back to your sword, Dawnbreaker... You said it is meant to destroy undeads... Is this the reason why you don’t bring it with you when you go out hunting¿”

“Well, not exactly.”, explained her, her tone back to her more confident one, “I can use it against the living, but I prefer to not bring it with me when I hunt so I will have less weight to slow me down.”

“But what if you find yourself in trouble¿ You told you that we are hunted by the humans, didn’t we¿ Since you’re with us, you could as well be ambushed at any time by their forces.”

“Oh¿ Nah...”, she dismissed the idea with a wave of her right hand, and Iorveth took a mental note that she always gave preference in using her right hand, meaning it was her stronger side, “If it were to happen, I could still use my bow against them to defend myself.”

“Of that I’m sure.”, he said, keep pushing on the subject, hoping to get her talking about her magic shout, “But what if they attack you up close, not giving you enough time to pull the string of your blessed bow¿”

“Then I would only need to use my...”, she started, but soon stopped to talk as she realized Iorveth had been playing with her to get her to say what he so wished to know.

“Your what, planeswalker¿”, Iorveth questioned, still trying to pry more information about her and get Vána to talk about her magic, as she was surely close to exposing more about it before stopping herself.

“...You were making this questions on purpose.”, Vána accused him.

“Of course I was. Everyone does... Or do you ask random questions with no purpose at all¿”

“Kyne’s breath! You could have just asked, you know¿ No need to keep playing games with me if you wish for us to remain allies!”

“And would have you answered sincerly if I asked you directly about it¿”, he said, narrowing his eyes.

“I... Yes!... No!.... I do not know!”, Vána admitted, groaning in frustration.

“Why not¿”, he tried again, still insisting on the subject.

Her blue eyes, narrowed in annoyance soon traveled to the ground, as she avoided eye contact with the elf, remaining in silence for so long that Iorveth started to think she wasn’t going to say anything else, getting up to his feet to leave her. He had alreadt spent too much time talking with the dh’oine and still had much to do.

“I am a Dragonborn.”, came her voice, as Iorveth was already starting to move away from her, halting him at his spot to turn to her direction, widening his eye to what she said.

“You’re... What¿ Dragonborn¿ You’re a dragon¿”, he asked, not even trying to conceal the shock in his voice.

Vána shook her head before staring back to him, her eyes once more filled with confidence that only someone who knew how powerful they are could present.

“No, not a dragon, not in the literal sense. My body is still human, mortal... But my soul is of a dovah... A dragon.”

“That...”

“Doesn’t make any sense¿”, she sighed, having cut his words with her own.

“No, it doesn’t.”, Iorveth said, still shaken from what she was saying, deciding to sit back next to her.

“I... I’ll try to explain, okay¿ It’s not any secret but I thought it was better to hide it before because I didn’t know where I was neither who you were.”, admitted Vána, and Iorveth nodded, understanding her reasons and she sighed again before continuing.

“I do hope you’re not planning to do anything at the moment... Because it’ll probably take some time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you find any "na" before the words, it was supposed to be "an" because my Word program keeps thinking that I'm mistaking some word in Portuguese  
> I corrected all I found but I'm not sure if I missed any :/


	5. Chapter 5

Venalir held to his red scarf, hidding the lower half of his face in order to protect it from the ashes of Solstheim’s shores as he made his way back from Raven Rock to Tel Mithryn, bringing some igredients master Neloth had requested from him... Not that Neloth ever requested anything, if only _demanded_ what he wanted others to do for him, that old annoying old mer.

“B’vehk! He better not have sent me to bring him something useless for what I sought his help for again!”, mused the young dunmer to himself, narrowing his eyes as the winds of winter threw ashes over his eyes.

As a dunmer who was borned in Skyrim, at the cold and infamous Grey Quarter of Windhelm, Venalir wasn’t particularly used to the ashen lands from hence his parents came after the eruption of the Red Mountain, and he were to admit, after his initial admiration when he first went to Solstheim with Vána and Sindri to figure out way some weird cultists were trying to murder his adoptive sister, Venalir realized that he did enjoy Skyrim and its snow.

Once the great mushroom tower of the Telvanni mage became visible to his vision sight, Venalir stopped in his track for a moment, staring at the massive fungi at the center of the small Telvanni citadel, remembering the events of two years ago, when he and his friends came after Neloth for his help, seeking information about the Black Books so Vána could enter Apocrypha in order to stop Miraak’s influence over Solstheim’s inhabitants.

And here he was once more, again seeking help of that egocentric wizard to help him and his friends to find a way to travel to Apocrypha. Only that, unlikely the first time, Neloth no longer had a Black Book in his possession, not thanks to Vána, who made sure to throw every single book into the ocean, hoping no one would ever find them again (much to Neloth’s dismay, as he had shouted many obscenities to the Last Dragonborn once he found out what she had done with the books).

Venalir never thought he would one day agree with the Telvanni wizard upon their poorly decision.

“The past cannot be changed, no help in dwelling on it.”, he thought to himself again, going to the entrance of the main tower, stepping onto the blue light and levitating to master Neloth’s laboratory, finally taking off his scarf from over his mouth and nose.

“Master Neloth!”, he called, not finding the older dunmer at first glance, “Master Neloth, I broght the ingredients you asked me!”

“Who’s there¿”, came the voice of master Neloth, who came out of his private room to check who had been calling him, sounding annoyed as he had to great whoever it was as his steward had gone to Raven Rock, not having come back yet from his drinking, “Oh, it’s you.”, he said, sounding unimpressed once he saw Venalir.

“I brought you want you asked me...”, said the younger dunmer, walking towards the wizard, handing him a small sack with his requested items.

“Finally!”, spoke Neloth, ever _so gentle_ , taking the sack from Venalir’s hand without even looking at the spellsword’s direction and with no thanks, “What took you so long¿”, reprimated the older dunmer, making Venalir eyeroll as Neloth walked away from him to the direction of his alchemy lab station.

“Do you think it will help us opening a portal to Apocrypha¿”, questioned Venalir, not in the mood to deal with Neloth’s peculiar personality, going after the mage as he spoke.

“What¿ This¿ Of course not. I just needed it to finish one of my concoctions.”, Neloth waved one of his hands at Venalir’s direction, as the spellsword stared at the other in disbelief.

“You got to be kidding me! Azura’s wisdom guide me! This is the fifth time you made me go on a quest for something you said it might be useful only to tell me later that it won’t help us finding a way to Apocrypha at all!”, Venalir snapped, raising his voice, angry with Neloth and even with himself for ending up acting as an errand boy for the older dunmer again.

“Do not speak so loud, young mer.”, spoke Neloth, not even turning to Venalir’s direction, “You’re interrupting my concentration, which I require to finish this elixir.”

Groaning, Venalir shook his head, not believing how could someone be like the Telvanni mage. Even though the spellsword was grateful for being recognized by him as a member of one of the Great Houses of Morrowind after the events of two years ago, Venalir would never be able to endure Neloth’s self-absorbeb nature.

“You know what¿ Find another person to be your errand boy. If you can’t or won’t help, I’ll find someone else.”, he said, turning his back to the other dunmer so as to leave Tel Mithryn.

“And who do you expect to find in order to help you¿”, asked Neloth, but Venalir didn’t turn to him or stopped.

“I don’t know... Maybe someone from the College of Whispers.”, he said, earning a loud and amused laugh from Neloth, finally turning to his direction only to glare at the mage, “What’s so funny, master Neloth¿”

“Do you honestly expect that someone at the College of Whispers would ever help you¿ Oh, young mer, you make me laugh at your naivité.”, Neloth spoke, seemingly cleaning the corner of his eyes, having cried from laughing upon hearing Venalir’s words.

“It is said they have a vast knownledge about Oblivion and its portals...”

“Yes, that they do. But why do you think they would be willing to share anything with one¿”, asked Neloth again, his tone a little more serious this time.

Sighing, Venalir only shrugged before answering.

“I don’t. But the truth is... I am desperate, master Neloth. I came here to seek your help just like we did before...”

“Yes, before you threw all the Black Books into the ocean!”, Neloth snapped at Venalir, cutting his sentence.

“A mistake which I regret deeply.”, the spellsword sighed again, “But as it’s clear that you do not wish or even care to help and I’ve already spent one month here for nothing, I am more than willing to risk going to Cyrodiil and the masters at the College of Whispers.”

Neloth didn’t say anything after hearing the serious tone of Venalir’s voice, remaining silent until he too sighed and walked away from his alchemy lab.

“Come here.”, was al lhe said and Venalir, unbeit uncertain, went after the mage, who walked at the direction of his library, his face turned towards its books, “There is a way to travel to Apocrypha withou the Black Books.”

“What¿ You knew about it and only now you’re telling me this¿”, questioned the spellsword, unable from raising his voice at his utter disbelief.

“Stay quiet and I shall explain why I didn’t say anything before.”, spoke the wizard, turning to face the other dunmer who stayed quiet as he was told to, not wishing to stop Neloth from saying something that could finally help him save his sister.

“I didn’t tell you anything because there’s no guarantees that you actually end up in Apocrypha.”, explained Neloth, making Venalir frown his eyebrowns, seeming to grimance due to the scars on his face.

“But you just said...”

“Yes, I know what I said. But what I meant is that there’s a way to travel among the planes of Oblivion. A rather dangerous way, mind you, for there’s no way of knowing in which realm you end up.”, continued Neloth in his explanation, “To be honest, I’m pretty sure your friend... that Miraak guy, he too must know about it, and if he doesn’t, then, well... He probably isn’t so intelligent as I once thought.”

Venalir blinked, assessing all the information he heard, trying to make something out of it.

“How exactly does this travel between planes work¿”, he asked at last.

“Did you listen to anything I said just now¿ You can’t control where you’ll end up!”, snapped the mage, his expression being one of pure disbelief.

“Yes, I did, and I don’t plan on making a blind travel to Oblivion. By Azura, I don’t even want to think about getting stuck in a realm such as Coldharbour... But this... This can be a start for us!”, said Venalir, walking at Neloth’s direction.

“You mean you wish to recreate an ancient method of traveling between planes¿”, questioned Neloth again, raising his voice in utter shock.

“That’s the plan.”, was all Venalir answered, earning an even more shocked expression from Neloth before the older dunmer managed to speak again.

“Count me in, then.”

\--------------------------------------------------xxxx--------------------------------------------------

There had been a lot of tension among the Scoia’tael on the past two days, but Vána knew nothing about the reason behind it. She thought about asking them however decided against it, for if they deemed importante for her to know she was sure that Iorveth or some of his men would tell her. If no one came to explain what was going on, that it was probably something that was not her concern in their minds and would not care to tell if she asked, and so, she kept to herself as she helped some elves to cook a stew for their evening.

Once the food was ready, they called the others to eat and all the Scoia’tael that weren’t on patrol came by the fire to relax as they ate and talked too ne another. Iorveth, however, wasn’t among the elves who gathered around to dinner, even though Vána knew he wasn’t on patrol that night.

She searched aroung for him but didn’t see the one-eyed elf anywhere nearby, asking to one of the she-elves close to her if she knew the location of the Scoia’tael commander.

The she-elf told the Dovahkiin that the last time she saw Iorveth he had been playing his recorder outside the cave, leaving Vána curious to watch him play as she had not yet seen him doing it.

And so, taking her own pot and an extra one for Iorveth, she left the comfort of the inside of the cave, relishing on the feeling of the cool breeze she felt on her skin, still not used to the heat, missing dearly the cold winds of Skyrim, as she payed attention for any signs of music, follow the serene notes Iorveth played in his recorder once she finally identified it among all the sounds of Florsam forest.

Not that listening to his recorder actually helped Vána finding him at the end, Iorveth knew how to hide himself well enough, seeming to be some sort of spirit of the forest as he blended in with the trees, another small detail that made her mind link the Aen Seidhe with the bosmers from Nirn, a thought that made her heart ache from missing Sindri and all of his endless talks and theories about the dwemers.

How she missed her home, the small cabine in the woods of Falkreath she and the others built for when they were too tired of all of their travels and expeditions, simply wishing for some brief respite and a lot of mead, or Mazte, in Ven’s case.

Vána couldn’t help but smile at the memories of her world, getting herself lost in her thoughts until she realized the music had stopped, searching around for the hidden elf, in vain.

“Is this for me¿”, came the voice of Iorveth from behind her, startling the Dragonborn, who turned around, almost using her Unrelenting Force shout on him and dropping both bowls of stew in her hands.

“By Ysmir’s beard! Iorveth! Don’t surprise me like that! I could have shouted you apart with my Thu’um!”, she complained, narrowing her eyes, annoyed with the elf.

“Could you now¿”, he asked, a mischiveous smile decorating his lips as hem ade his way towards her and Vána offered a bowl to him.

“Thank you.”, Iorveth said, taking the bowl and going to sit next to some tree, soon followed by the Dragonborn, who still had an annoyed expression plastered on her face.

“Yes, it is possible to tear someone apart with the might of a Shout. The previous High King of Skyrim was killed on this exact way four years ago.”, Vána explained, before drinking from her stew.

They had had a long talk about the Dragonborn’s abilities, her Shouts and what exactly meant to be a Dovahkiin. For hours, Iorveth asked her inumerous questions about the prophecy Vána said to be bound, wanting to know more about the World-Eater dragon, the Greybeards and the Blades, her battle in Sovngarde and even about her flying on Odahviing’s back, all of which Vána gladly narrated, unbeit a little embarrassed, afraid of sounding as if she was embelishing some parts of her accomplishments as the Last Dragonborn.

Many other Scoia’tael ended up gattering around the two of them, curious and intrigued by the tales of the mysterious lands of the world from hence the Dragonborn came. And if Vána had to point out a moment in which she truly started to feel trusted by those elves, including Iorveth himself, it surely was after the day they discovered about her being a mortal with a dragon soul.

She had even showed them some non-lethal Shouts of hers such as Become Ethereal and Slow Time, earning expressions filled with awe and amazement, specially the latter, and whenever Vána gazed upon Iorveth’s direction, she had seen that he too had a glint of wonder in his single green eye, along with something else that Vána couldn’t quite identify at first but it later came to understand, as she had seen that kind of look back in Skyrim many times when people looked at her... It was hope

Vána wasn’t sure she liked this, not even back at Skyrim. Being the source of hope of a nation or even to a single person was too much of a responsability. She knew that many hated her from believing she had betrayed Skyrim when she decided to side and fight with the Empire Legion, even becoming a Legate under General Tullius command. Deep inside her heart, the Dragonborn feared truly being a traitor of her people. Every legend, every song telled how she was supposed to be the savior of Skyrim, and many were the nights she had stayed awoken, wondering if she had made the right choices, remembering the faces of those she slaughtered in battle. Men and women, her kinsmen, who only wished to have their freedom of religion.

It wasn’t as if she agreed on everything the Empire said and did, on the contrary, she hated to have sided with the Thalmor even if at a small degree. However, she knew well that beneath the banner of freedom of religion, the freedom to worship Talos was only one of many things Ulfric Stormcloak preached.

Ulfric preached the idea that Skyrim belonged only to the nords, and she had seen the situation of the dunmer living in Windhelm, had heard the stories Venalir told her from having growing up in the midst of hatred for his kind... She had seen the scars on the right side of his face which he got from being beated up on the alleys of his own city, he, a dunmer who was borned in Skyrim, borned in Windhelm itself.

All of this made she fear what would happen to every non-nord living in Skyrim should the Stormcloaks had won the war. The lives of the dunmers of the Grey Quarter would become even worst then it already was.

That, and she also feared that it would be just as the Thalmor wanted. As couldn’t read too well at the time, she had asked to Venalir to read to her a report she had found in the Thalmor Embassy, and they found out about their plans to weaken the Empire, splitting it from its provinces, instigating Ulfric to strike a Civil War, turning him into an oblivious puppet to their machinations for whatever plan they had, and so, even if her mind kept on torturing her with every “if” it could elaborate, in her heart she more than often found herself thinking it had been the lesser evil between the two wrongs she had to choose.

One thing the Dragonborn knew, however. She knew she didn’t want to see the same disapointment she saw on the eyes of many back in Skyrim on the eyes of the Scoia’tael, should she ended up not being the beacon of hope they’ve started to see her as.

She wasn’t ready for it. Not when they were everything she had in this world, specially as she had no idea when and if she would ever be able to return to Nirn.

‘I cannot lose hope’, the Dragonborn thought to herself, sighing as she clutched her Talos amulet in one of her hands, ‘If there’s a way to this world, there must be another to mine.’

Vána noticed Iorveth staring at her from the corner of her eyes, turning to gaze at his direction as well.

“Are you alright¿”, he asked, souding concerned.

“Yeah... Just thinking about my home.”, said Vána, her gaze lifting towards the moon in the sky, “It’s still strange for me to see only one moon at the sky.”

“Only one moon¿ Do you mean your world has more than one¿”

“Two. There are two moons back in my world, Masser and Secunda.”, she explained, hearing Iorveth laughing.

“You know, everytime I hear something from your world, the more it feels like something out of a fairytale...”, Iorveth spoke, as they stared at each other once more, Vána noticing the shade of a smile over his lips, “If were not from what you should us... Your Thu’um as you called... I would have never believed in any of it.”, finished the elf with another laugh, earning one from the Dragonborn as well.

He offered himself to take the empty bowl from her hands and she gave it to him, eyeing the recorder lying next to the Aen Seidhe.

“It was a beautiful melody, by the way...”, she said and Iorveth gave her a bried smile, turning his gaze away from her and not saying anything.

“Didn’t take you for a musician.”, said her again once she realized he wasn’t planning on answering her.

“What did you take me for¿”, questioned the elf, resting his back on the trunk of a tree, earning a shrug in response.

“I don’t know.”, she shrugged, “Do you play often¿”

“No, I don’t. I mostly play when I wish to distract myself...”, Iorveth explained, not looking to her anymore, watching the moon in the sky, just as she did before.

“Hm... It is because these so called Blue Stripes being at the city nearby as I heard some of your men talking about¿”, the Dragonborn asked and Iorveth’s serene expression became sour at the mention of Temeria’s special forces.

“Yes. Althought there’s not much to worry about as soon as our reinforcements arrive, which will probably happen soon.”

“Reinforcements¿”, Vána blinked, “Then you are expecting some big confrontation.”

“Better be safe than sorry, specially when Vernon Roche is the one involved.”, explained Iorveth, pronouncing the name of his enemy with utter disdain and sighed, getting to his feet, already intending on leaving, “We better return... I must greet the others once they arrive.”

“Wait.”, the voice of the Drabonborn halted him, and the Scoia’tael leader turned to her direction as she too stood on her feet, “Why do you think they would rick coming to your territory like this¿ You said to me the other day that the Scoia’tael own this forest and no one dare come here.”

“Human hatred can lead you to make terrible decisions.”, the elf said, and Vána noticed how he sounded defensive when he answered to her question.

“Hm... Well, I don’t buy it, Iorveth. Something tells me there’s more to it. What are you not telling me¿”, the nord insisted and Iorveth’s single eye narrowed at her.

“It’s nothing of your concern, Dragonborn.”

“Oh, but I think it is.”, said Vána, approaching him, “You see... I’m with you guys, so one would think it would be fair to be included in at least some of your plans. I don’ wish to know all of your strategies or any of such things, but I think you own me at least some explanation to what’s going on after I’ve already told you so much about me.”

Human and elf stared at each other in completely silence, as Vána awaited for Iorveth’s response, unwilling to let go on the matter. But as no answer came from the Aen Seidhe’s mouth, the Dragonborn spoke again, pressuring to explain himself.

“What did you and the Scoia’tael have done to make them desperate to chase you at your own territory¿ And don’t tell me is just about their hatred for your kind, I’m not stupid, Iorveth, I know there’s more to it.”

The elf turned his gaze away from her, unable to keep with her authoritative eyes, taking some steps away from her.

“They are after the one who killed their king.”, said the elf, earning from the Dragonborn an expression of utter disbelief.

“You... You killed their king¿!”, she asked, unable from raising her voice and unwilling to pretend she wasn’t shocked with what she heard.

“No, we didn’t.”, stated Iorveth, returning his gaze to her, “But we did help the one who stroke down that filthy dh’oine noble.”

“That bald man who keeps coming talk to you.”, the Dragonborn said, not in a question, “Letho. That’s his name, isn’t it¿”

“Yes, it was Letho who killed king Foltest.”

“But why¿”, was all she managed to ask.

“You wouldn’t understand.”, he shook his head, meaning to resume his way back to the cave.

“Why don’t you try to explain it to me, then¿”, insisted her, following the elf.

“We don’t have time for this, Vána...”, Iorveth started to say.

“ _Fus!_ ”, the Dragonborn shouted in his direction, interrupting the elf who fell to the floor, groaning as he was caught by surprise by the first word of Vána’s Unrelenting Force shout.

“What the hell was that, you bloede dh’oine¿!”, Iorveth snarled at her direction, raising his head to glare at the Dragonborn’s direction. She, however, didn’t seem to care to the elf’s murderous expression as she walked towards him.

“If you have any desire o fus to remain as allies, you’re going to explain me everything, Iorveth. Right now.”, Vána demanded – no, she ordered him, “I’m done being left in the dark.”

Vána may not have know at that moment, but it had been the first time, ever since she told him about her having a dragon soul, in which Iorveth finally saw her as the dragonslayer hero she claimed to be, someone as mighty as a real dragon. Feeling himself unable to make any sort of retorts under her powerful gaze, Iorveth ended up explaining all about his alliance with Letho.

The Dragonborn had remained silent as he spoke, retelling everything that had happened after Letho had came seeking the help of Iorveth and the Scoia’tael, not a single trace of remorse in his tone. She only broke her silence to ask what was a witcher, which he explained to her.

And by Talos, how angry was with him! Angry for his decision and even angrier for him making her believe that he and the others were actually victims instead of a bunch of elves who answered hatred and violence with only more hatred and violence.

It was just as in Skyrim, with the Stormcloaks and their fight against the alleged oppression of the Empire, which was real in more than one way of course, althought they choose what Vána considered to be the wrong approach to the situation as they only worsened the province’s already terrible scenario, and innocents non-nords, specially the dunmer refugees, suffered under the prejudice of the so called liberators of Skyrim and its people. They weren’t wrong in their desire for justice, not the Stormcloaks and neither the Scoia’tael, but hatred had blinded them to a point in which there was only “them against us” and nothing in between.

Not that she thought this king Foltest to be innocent at all, as rulers rarely were anything close to being innocents, if her experience with the Jarls of Skyrim had taught her something. But the more she heard Iorveth’s words, the more she realized he fancied the idea of striking down humans, ending their lifes as he truly believed it to be fair after everything his people had being through.

His hatred she could understand, as she understood the mistrust of many dunmer towards her when she first went to the Corner Club at the Grey Quarter with Venalir. It was a natural response for all the pain she could she in Iorveth’s single eye, but it didn’t mean it was the right thing either. And the Scoia’tael lastest actions clearly wouldn’t help elven image to the humans who already hated them.

With a sigh, she turned her back to him, trying to calm herself down.

“You shouldn’t have done this, Iorveth... You shouldn’t have help this witcher!”

“Why should I not¿”, he snapped, but she refused to stare at him again.

“Because you’re blind by hate, unable to see the bigger picture!”

“Bigger picture¿ Hah!”, the elf gave a ironic laugh, “What would a human, an outsider like you be capable of understand¿”, he said, his words forcing her to stare at him.

“I understand it more than you think, Iorveth. And let me tell you what I see... The bigger picture.”, she said, walking towards him, “Whenever you strike one of them, they will find more reasons to strike you back. And when they kill one of yours, you are the ones who seek revenge, both sides getting stuck on a circle of hate which will only end with one of the two sides exterminated. And based on your numbers, which side do you think will be the most likely to lose¿”

Iorveth groaned in frustration, cursing some words in his native language, althought he didn’t contest her words.

“You’ve helped someone kill a king, Iorveth. A king. And if they know about your involvement on this already... They’re surely going to try to kill you all. Them being... Probably most of the citizens of this nation who wish to avenge their fallen monarch.”, said Vána, softening her expression and voice for a moment, Iorveth’s eye coming into the encounter of her blue ones.

“Let them try, then.”, he stated, his voice firm and with not a single hint of fear in his tone, and Vána couldn’t help but shake her head at it, “If you do not with to continue to fraternize with “terrorists” like us... You are free to leave and go anywhere you please. We won’t stop you.”

“No, I’m not planning on leaving you.”, she spoke, earning a surprised and briefly expression from the Scoia’tael’s face, “I do not agree with your methods, not in the slightest. But... But we nords honour our debts. I’m not willing to let your people die as I have to admit to have come to care of you, for all of your kindness and everything you’ve done to aid me.”

“Meaning... You’ll help us against the Blue Stripes when they find us¿”, the elf questioned her, raising his only visible eyebrown, “I thought I had understood you didn’t agree with my methods.”, he said, sarcastically.

“And I truly don’t. But I’ll be at your side once they arrive, of that I give you my word. Just don’t count on me to help you in your campaign against all mankind. Not everyone is so terrible as you think, human or elf... We call all be pieces of shit.”

“Hmpf... You’re really something, Dragonborn.”, spoke Iorveth, shaking his head as he resumed walking to the cave, “Do mind that if you use your Voice on me again as you did, I’ll cut your throat open.”, threatned him.

“Then don’t be a cunt with me!”, retorted Vána, following his steps, earning a glance for him but no other word as they walked in a different kind of silence from the one they shared not too long ago.

It was as if an ice barried had formed between them, their trust on the other shaken, a tension everyone seemed to notice once they arrived at the Scoia’tael camp, each parting to their own spot and away from the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must confess that a small part of my mind ships Iorveth with Vána, however the other part only groans to me being the multishipper that I am :'D  
> I won't say there will be or that there won't be anything between them because I honestly don't control these characters... more than once during this story they already shattered my plans (specially with Sindri and Venalir's POV, which I hadn't plan at all when I started)
> 
> for anyone curious, the idea of traveling between planes came from the Elder Scrolls novel 'Lord of Souls', unbeit a little different from the original idea from the book
> 
> I've also realized after rewatching some videos of the first chapter of The Witcher 2 that I got the time frame between the events wrong because I had forgotten the exact time between each event from the game... but, well, this fic is not exaclty canon compliant so... whatever, I don't think it'll be any serious problem as the events continue to take place on the same order as in the game
> 
> thank you for the comments and the kudos <3


	6. Chapter 6

Vána had been nearly snoozing once she heard the arrival of Iorveth’s reinforcements. From what she gattered after returning to the Scoia’tael hiddeout, they were all members of the same unit, but Iorveth had sent them to check on some way to travel through the river of the Pontar Valley, for a reason still unknown to her, like many other things appearantly, she mused.

She didn’t know what was their reason for wanting to cross the river nor why they seemed to be uncapable of doing so, althought she could guess they didn’t have any means of transportation to make such travel, specially with their numbers. However, Vána was certain she wouldn’t be knowing about anything so soon, for if Iorveth haven’t wanted to tell her about his plans before, he surely wouldn’t want to do so now after their discussion.

‘I guess I’ll have to wait and see...’, she mused to herself, getting lost at the track of her own thoughts as her eyes caught the sight of those who had arrived at the hiddeout.

Among the majority of elves who basically glared at her upon realizing her presence, there were some dwarves, members o fone of the Elder races of the world she found herself in, and which Iorveth had described to Vána during one of the few times she managed to convince him to tell more to her about his world and its inhabitants.

And they were exactly as the elf had described them. Short, crude and very loud whenever they spoke, for even though they were fewer in numbers, their voices still managed to ressonate through all the cavem louder than all the elves combined there.

Some glanced at Vána’s direction, seemingly intrigued and even confused by her presence, and the nord was able to hear some of them asking to a few elves about who she was and what a human was doing in their camp, while a few others simply didn’t care at all about Vána, even as she stared at them in awe.

The Dragonborn couldn’t help but wonder if the ancient dwemer were anything close to these dwarves. They did have long beards like the ones from Tamriel, at least from what she had learned thanks to Sindri’s many researches, althought she didn’t remember hearing about them being so short as the ones from this world. Not that she expected to ever find out, as it was unlikely to someone ever figure out the exact size of an ancient and long gone race.

She had a hard time refraining herself from going sit next to them, wanting to ask so many questions about them, to them, deciding however that it was not a good time for it. The nord figured they should be tired from their travels, not too much unlike herself who was struggling to keep herself awake, having been so close to sleep when the Scoia’tael units arrived, preferring to remain at her own spot, drifting to sleep at the sound of happy laughs and the talking among friends who haven’t seen each other for a while.

Vána went to sleep thinking about her own friends, dreaming at their reunion once she found out a way to return home, not realizing she had shed some tears as she cuddled herself on her fur mattress, neither noticing how Iorveth kept glancing at her direction every now and then.

And perhaps it had been due to her sadness and all her worries that she ended up having terrible nightmares about Hermaeus Mora and his realm, thrashing on her sleep, begging for someone to her get away from Mora’s tentacles as she could feel them dragging her to a portal to Oblivion. The feeling of the tentacles encircling her legs reminding her of a time she wanted to forget, a time when she wasn’t know as the Dovahkiin, when she was younger and helpless. The nord dreaded that feeling, being touched without her consent, unable to stop the hands tearing her clothes as she screamed and begged for help.

In real life, her screams had been heard in time and she had been rescued by Valdr, of the hunters who were arriving from their hunting party at the Hunter’s Cabin at that dreadful night. But her mind wasn’t being kind to her and in her dreams, no one came to her help, and she was powerless, unable to use her Thu’um or anything else to save herself.

She was lost and lonely. And mostly, she was scared.

It didn’t matter how powerful she was, the might of her Voice. She could couldn’t do anything to escape as it was beyond everything she was capable of. All she could do was keep trying, keep fighting against the hands on her shoulders as they shaked her and called her name.

Someone was calling her name...

Vána shot her eyes open, pushing aside with all her strength whoever had been trying to wake her, taking shallow breaths to calm herself as she sitted and tried to situate herself.

She wasn’t in Apocrypha or even at the Hunters’ Cabin in Falkreath. And the person who had been shaking her was none other than her friend Erniar, who stared at her with wide eyes, stroking his own back as he laid on the floor after being pushed by her.

“Erniar¿”, Vána asked, blinking at his direction, suddenly ashamed for having pushed him.

“Ouch... You’re really strong, did you know that¿”, came Erniar’s own question to her.

“I...”, she started, making a pause to get to her on feet and walking towards him to help the Aen Seidhe get off the floor, “What were you doing¿ Why were you shaking me¿”, Vána asked again as she helped her friend.

“Well, you were thrashing a lot while you slept... You even started to scream, wouldn’t let anyone sleep anymore.”, the elf shrugged, and Vána felt the desire of disappear.

“I’m so sorry I’ve disturbed you all... Thank you for waking me up, my friend.”, she said, her voice low due to her shame.

“No need to. You may want to eat something soon... Iorveth said we must be ready to leave this cave. It’s not safe anymore here and if he’s correct, which he always is, the Blue Stripes must be coming to the forest today.”, Erniar smiled, shy yet gentle, trying to make her feel slight better, and his overdosed kindness left her wondering what she had said and screamed during her sleep.

To afraid to even ask, not wanting to know whether they had heard her begging to not get raped, Vána simply nodded and returned a forced smile to him, trying to pretend that everything was alright with her before going to eat something as he had suggested.

Vána wasn’t exactly hungry, but she forced herself to eat, keeping on mind that she didn’t know what would happen later that day and when she would be have another opportunity to have something.

She was anxious, and not only due to her nightmares.

The Dragonborn had expected to find the Scoia’tael tensed at the prospect of an almost sure confrontation with the Blue Stripes forces, but instead she realized they were actually eager to fight these humans, and it only made her worry even more. These elves and dwarves craved for human blood and revenge.

And after she realized there would be probably no way to avoid a confrontation, she went to change herself, putting back her Ancient Nord Armor, not trusting the light armor of the Scoia’tael enough to head into a real fight while wearing it. One thing was hunting for animals, another one was fighting, and she damn well preferred having the heat of the her armor’s heavy furs over not feeling protected at all.

After readening herself, she took Dawnbreaker and Auriel’s bow, adjusting the sword to its sheath on her hip and the bow at her back with the quiver, assessing her arrows and deciding to put her antlered helmet later, keeping it in her arms, as she went in search of Iorveth, hoping he would put aside his current anger towards her so they could work properly together.

The Dragonborn found the Scoia’tael leader next to the witcher, Letho, as both men seemed to be discussing something, and she couldn’t help but glare at the direction of the bald man. If she haven’t liked him when she first laid her eyes on him, after learning about him dragging the Scoia’tael to his plans of murdering the king of Temeria, Vána decided she liked him even less.

She was sure he wasn’t aiding the Scoia’tael out of compassion to non-humans and wished she could prove her suspicious against him in some way to Iorveth, to make him see that it wasn’t going to help in his cause at all, only the contrary perhaps.

Yet, for the time being, the Dragonborn could only keep her promise and help them defend themselves.

Taking a step to go back to the others who were still getting ready, Vána noticed Iorveth staring at her direction, stopping herself from moving as she was caught surprised to find something akin to worry in his single eye as he watched her from afar. But before she could have time to even think about going to him, the Scoia’tael leader left his spot near Letho, who also stared attentively at the Dragonborn’s direction with his golden catlike eyes.

The thought of ignoring him crossed the nord’s mind but she decided against it, stroding towards the man, straightening her posture, not breaking their visual contact at any second.

“Ah... I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Vána, isn’t it¿”, said Letho, as she ceased her steps, standing right in front of him.

“Letho.”, she spoke, her tone completely dry of any pleasantries, not in the mood for it, not with him, “You’ve been wanting to talk with me¿ About what exactly¿”

“About you, of course.”, he smiled, his catlike eyes making him look like an animal ready to jump at its prey, “You are quite an intriguing character, you see... A traveler from another world, a mortal with the soul of a dragon – Dragonborn, as the elves call you. I hear you can even turn yourself ghostly-like by shouting some words. And even that your weapons are some sort of divine relics.”

“You seem to know a lot about me already. Why ask anything then¿”, she said, narrowing her eyes at him, earning a chuckle from the bald man.

“No need to be so defensive, we are on the same side, my dear.”

“Are we, now¿”, Vána asked.

“You don’t seem to trust me.”, Letho stated, a shade of a smile crossing his lips.

“I have yet to see any reason to.”, she retorted, refusing to lower her defences next to him.

“The friend of my friend is also my friend. Or is this saying not applied for your people¿”

Sighing, Vána putted her helmet on, tired of carrying it around.

“Where’s Iorveth headed¿ Do you know it¿”, she decided to ask, not wanting to continue their previous subject, unable to point out the reason for her mistrust but not wanting to fall for his words either.

“Worried about him¿”, questioned the witcher, his tone seemingly to imply something.

“I made a promise to him, to help him and the Scoia’tael, and I simply wish to honour my word, such is the way of my people. We nords keep to our promises.”

“Ah... I see. Your people value your words of honour then.”, Letho said, trying to continue their conversation, but Vána decided she had had enough of it.

“If you don’t know or won’t say where he’s headed to... Then I’ll ask someone who will.”, Vána said, giving a small nod before turning away from the bald man.

“I cannot wait to watch you in battle, Dragonborn.”, came Letho’s voice from behind her, but she refused to look at him as she left him behind.

\--------------------------------------------------xxxx--------------------------------------------------

Vána had not managed to speak to Iorveth before they all departed to where they decided to wait for Vernon Roche and his men. The two of them had crossed their eyes on several occasions, but the elf seemed to be avoiding her, as he slipped away from the Dragonborn everytime she tried to reach him, and as they arrived to their destination, she had no chance of saying anything to him as she was supposed to stay hidden with the other archers while Iorveth hosted his “guests”.

And as the Dragonborn went to hide in her spot behind the trees, she caught herself thinking about how similar Iorveth could be to Miraak sometimes, besided all their obvious diferences, of course. Two men who longed for their own freedom, gattering followers who believed in their ideals and trusted the two to guide them to a better path. Both could be cruel and even ruthless, from what Vána had been learning from Iorveth during her time with the Scoia’tael, yet the two were also loyal not only to their beliefs but also to those they deemed worth of their trust. Althought she had to admit it was much easier to see through Iorveth’s contained expression than Miraak’s, as even if the Atmoran had forsaken his dragon priest mask, she never managed to figure out his true intentions unless he was drunk enough to let them show.

She also mused to herself how those two would totally hate each other should they ever meet.

Her trail of thought was cutted by the sound of Iorveth’s recorder, and she glanced at his direction from her hidding spot, recognizing the melody he had played the night before. It was indeed a nice tune he played, calm and serene, so unlikely the elf or the situation they were in as they waited for enemy forces to come.

The Dragonborn caught herself remembering Iorveth’s words, how he said he liked to play to distract himself, which led her to believe that he was now trying to do the same thing, wishing to avoid the feeling of tension that always came before a battle.

‘May the gods watch over us.”, she mused to herself, hearing footsteps approaching and crouching down to avoid get seeing.

Two men and a redhead woman came to Iorveth, the elf not seeming to care about their presence as he finished the melody with his recorder.

One of the two men was all dressed in blue and had what she could only describe as a turban that reminded her of the ones she had seen in a few Aliki’r warriors she once fought back in Skyrim, and from his authoritative stance, the Dragonborn guessed he was the leader of thr trio. She also figured him to be the infamous Vernon Roche, if his glare towards Iorveth’s direction were of any indication.

The other was man taller and far mor muscular than Vernon Roche, and had his head covered by a cowl, concealing major features and preventing Vána from examinating him, which made her focus on his equipement instead, paying attention the long sword on his back.

As for the woman however, she seemed to be unarmed, at least from what the nord could see from her hidding position, which made Vána frown a little, wondering for a moment why would they bring someone unarmed to the middle of the forest as they surely knew of the Scoia’tael presence, having ventured into Flotsam’s woods to find them in the first place. The Dragonborn could only guess there was more to that woman than she could see.

In fact, having not seen anyone else besides the trio, Vána decided to use her Aura Whisper, muttering the words in dovahzul, to find where their reinforcements could be hidding, blinkin in surprise once she found no one else besides them.

Whether they were insane or they surely had something beneath their sleeves.

She also noticed how the man with the cowl turned his head towards her direction, as if he had heard her whispering, althought he soon turned his attention back to the elf once Iorveth finished his melody and stood on his feet, watching the trio from the trunk he had been resting.

“Vernon Roche!”, called out Iorveth, his tone dripping with venom, “Special Forces Commander for the last four years. Servant of the Temerian king. Responsible for the pacification of the Mahakaman foothills. Hunter of elves, murderer of women and children. Twice decorated for valor on the field of battle...”, continued him, clapping his hands in a mock admiration.

“Iorveth – a regular son of a whore!”, shouted Roche, pointing out a finger to the Scoia’tael leader.

“I’ve long waited our meeting.”, said Iorveth, unaffected by Roche’s previous insult, “Laid plans, set traps... And now you appear in my forest at your own volition.”

“You aided the man who slew my king!”, accused the human.

“King or beggar - what’s the difference¿ One dh’oine less.”, stated Iorveth, and Vána felt a small lump forming in her throat as she was reminded that Iorveth not only hated these men in particular but humanity as a whole.

And as the two bickered with one another, the Dragonborn noticed taller man behind Roche whispering something to the redhead woman, her right hand sparkling with small lightning, and it dawned to Vána the reason she was unarmed. That woman was a mage, and she seemed to be adept in something close to watch the Dragonborn knew as destruction magic.

That sight was enough for her to ready Auriel’s bow in her hands, prepared to shot the mage if she came to see any indications that the redhead would cast a spell at Iorveth.

“Come down and we’ll finish this! I await.”, taunted Roche, his hand traveling to the sword at his hip.

“Hah!”, the elf laughed ironically, “You’re a man without honour, Vernon Roche. An insect I’ll not duel, but one I will crush!”

“Seems like you spout the same old elven drivel.”, said the unkown man, caughting Iorveth’s attetion.

‘You fool! They’re trying to distract you, Iorveth!’, Vána thought to herself, having come to this conclusion as she realized the woman seemed to be whispering something to herself – a spell, if she had to guess – as the other man now seemed to be buying time for her and whatever they planned.

“What do you men, witcher¿”, asked Iorveth, too blind by his hatred to realize what Vána was seeing and also caughting her by surprise as he called to other a witcher.

She had heard how witchers had enchanced senses, and now it dawned on her how he managed to hear her Aura Whisper even being so far from her. Which also meant he probably knew there were many other archers hidding behind the trees.

‘Shit!’, was all she could think, sighing as she continue to listen to their conversation.

“I’ve seen your kind before.”, spoke the witcher, taking a few steps into Iorveth’s direction, “Proud Aen Seidhe sneaking around forests. Helpless, yet masking that with acts of increasing cruelty.”

“I helped kill Roche’s king. You call that helpless¿”, questioned the elf, his voice filled with sarcasm, “Or would you call me a ‘terrorist’¿ No one will grant us our freedom, witcher. We must win it for ourselves.”

“You’re just another old elf in a young elf’s skin, using clever words to hide an obvious truth.”, said the witcher, ignoring Iorveth’s clear provocation.

“Obvious, you say¿”, questioned the Scoia’tael.

“This is not abou trace of freedom. Or even vegeance. You’re here because someone powerful told you to be. Someone who’s using you.”, spoke the man, and Vána again felt the lump in her throat, thinking about Letho and her own suspicious, “They may wear a crown, carry a magic wand, or even lead a guild... But be sure of this: it’s not about your freedom, your rights or your ears. Nilfgaard ploughed you once, now someone new does. Am I wrong¿”

Some parts of what the witcher said Vána could not understand, but she understood quickly that his words held some degree of truth as the Dragonborn noticed how Iorveth hesitated for a moment, unbeit a brief one.

“Those times are gone...”, came the elf’s voice, his tone sour in a way Vána had not yet seen before, “No one will ever use the Scoia’tael again!”

“Who are you addressing¿ Me, yourself... or the archers in those shrubs¿”, asked the witcher, and Vána sensed as all the archers next to her tensed upon hearing his words. She had been right then, the witcher had listened to them hidding. But before any of them could do or say anything, the witcher turned to the redhead woman.

“Triss! Now!”, he shouted, and the mage casted a spell in Iorveth’s direction, only for the elf quickly ducked away from it, almost falling from the tree.

Without any second thoughts, Vána readened her bow, refraining herself from calling out to Iorveth as worried about the elf, and ordered to the Scoia’tael to follow her lead as the laid a rain of arrows at the direction of the trio.

The witcher and the commander of the Blue Stripes managed to unsheath their respectives swords but the Dragonborn knew it would be pointless for them to try to avoid so many arrows. What she didn’t count, however, was that the mage would cast some fort of ward which turned every arrow into orange butterflies, saving them from their impending doom.

All but Vána’s arrow, which remained unaffected by the mage’s spell and went straight to the redheads shoulder, causing her to fall, groaning in pain.

“Triss!”, cried out the witcher, crouching at the redhead’s side, “Are you alright¿”

“Lovely...”, said the mage, seemingly out of her mind before passing out, altought her magickal barrier remained around them.

“You should’ve charmed the archers!”, barked Roche, “They are coming!”

“Shut up, Roche!”, snapped back the witcher, readening his long sword, “Get Triss and I’ll keep the elves at bay!”

“Fine!”, answered the commander of the Blue Stripes, sheathing his sword to grab the mage over his shoulders as if she was some sack of potatoes, “Geralt, the spell’s still woking! Stay close!”, he ordered, as more Vána and the other archers rained more arrows in their directions.

Unlike the first time, the arrows didn’t turn into butterflies as they reached the ward, however, as the trio managed to take their distance, runnings in a fast pace, making it much more difficult for Iorveth’s men to hit them with their rain of arrows, and soon, realizing it was pointless to keep trying with their bows, Iorveth ordered some of his men to charge with their swords, and the Scoia’tael did as they were told, chasing after the trio.

The Dragonborn, on the other hand, continued to shot her arrow with amazing precision, only to get more and more frustrated each time the witcher used his sword to block her shots, until she realized it was indeed a better option to change to her sword as well, much to her dislike.

Vána cursed under her breath, sheathing her own bow and taking Dawnbreaker to follow the group of elves who chased the trio, not before glancing at Iorveth’s direction, seeing as he continued his persuit from above the trees with a few more archers, trying to hit the redhead mage so as to stop her spell.

A wise idea, she mused to herself, before she saw many of the Scoia’tael being ripped apart by the witcher’s blade.

His long sword thrusted into the elves’ skin, cutting open their flesh and muscles as if they were made of paper, such was the strength of the witcher’s blows.

The Dragonborn watched in terror as the man decapitated her elven friend, Erniar, in a moment which she felt as if time had slowed down as she saw her friend’s head rolling on the ground and his lifeless body, the sound shich left her mouth almost like a howl as she felt a burst pure rage, giving into the aggression of her dragon nature as she ran towards the witcher, gripping tighly at Dawnbreaker’s hilt.

“ _Wuld nah kest_!”, she shouted, her voice ressonating like a thunder as the ground shaked beneath her feet with the might of her Thu’um, strengthened by her fury, as she made her way through the Scoia’tael, all rendered staggering, unable to continue in their chase due to her Whirlwind Sprint which ended up destabilizing them, with some elves even falling.

And with her supernatural speed, Vána got close to the witcher as he was ready to strike another elf with his blade, shocked as he watched the antlrered figure with a glowing golden sword coming at his direction possessed by rage, barely having the time to block her attack.

“Who the hell are you¿”, came his question, raising his voice so as to be heard as their swords singed every time they clashed too ne another in sucession, almost non-stop, unable to do anything else but block every strike of the Dragonborn’s sword.

Refusing to answer him, however, Vána shouted again, this time using her Elemental Fury shout to accelerate her blows.

“ _Su grah dun_!”, her voice thundered, staggering the witcher for a brief moment which gave her a window of opportunity and she managed to slit his left arm with her blade, before he recomposed himself and blocked her next blow.

In a matter of brute force and due to her the lack of the same level of technique she had with her bow with a sword, the witcher had the upper hand, which Vána had to admit, much to her dislike. The witcher wasn’t having any trouble to defend himself or block her attacks - even dodging some of them, his enhanced agility allowing to him to prevent every strike headed in his way, even though he never managed to strike her back as the Dragonborn gave him no window to do so.

However with Vána’s own enchanced agility thanks to the Elemental Fury shout, she realized how the witcher was now struggling to keep up with her blows, as she managed to hit him a few times, indulging as she heard the pained groans he made as Dawnbreaker’s golden blade burned the skin beneath his armor.

It was easy sometimes for her to lose herself in the middle of the battle, something Paarthunax once told her being a ‘curse’ of the dovah, as dragons took pleasure with the heat of a fight. And the more dragon souls she devoured, the more she realized she indulged into this feeling. And now, as she was blind with fury for having failed in her promise to keep the Scoia’tael safe as many laid dead next to her feet, all the Dragonborn could think was into killing the man who slaughtered them.

So blind in her momentary rage that ended up not seen the witcher’s right hand making a gesture as his catlike eyes glistened for a brief moment, taken aback by a force akin to her Unrelenting Force shout– or at least the force of its first two words – send her flying to the ground, her back hitting it with enough force to make clear her head a bit.

Some of the remaining Scoia’tael which remained away from her fight after her Whirlwind Sprint went running to her, helping Vána get to her feet.

The Dragonborn accepted their help, not really paying attention to the elves as her blue eyes remained focused on the witcher, their eyes meeting for a moment as he surely wondered who and what she was before he fled to Flotsam city with his two allies, leaving Vána and the Scoia’tael behind.

The thought of chasing them crossed her mind for a brief moment, but she decided against it, not wishing to give into her dovah nature, feeling slightly numb from sorrow as it hitted her once the adrenaline rush subzided and returned with the Scoia’tael back to where Iorveth awaited for them with the archers who had remained behind with him.

There was a lump in her throat and shame almost made her look away from Iorveth, yet she saw how his green eye stared at her direction with awe and admiration, but also fear, even if on a smaller degree, and glancing around to the other elves, Vána noticed that it was the same to all of them.

Iorveth made a small gesture with his head, in a silent order to his men, sending them back to the woods as they had got too close to the human city already and it wouldn’t be safe for them to continue in their persuit.

Once they were left alone, the one-eyed elf opened his mouth as if to say something to her but remained silent, closing his mouth, probably thinking about what exactly he wanted to say before managing say anything.

“And here I thought that your armor would slow you down when I saw you wearing before we left earlier.”, he said, without any trace humor in his voice, mostly having said the first thing that came to his mind, not even thinking too much about his words.

“I didn’t save them all. I didn’t save Erniar.”, was all she managed to say.

“Were not for you interfering and fighting the witcher, there would be more elven bodies today.”, said Iorveth, sighing as he let his own sorrow show in his tone.

Sighing, she looked at him, ready to say something but interrupting herself before uttering a single word, her blue eyes focusing on the image of Letho, who approached the two of them, staring at the direction of the city of Flotsam.

The Scoia’tael leader also heard the heavy steps of the bald witcher, turning at his direction before speaking to him.

“You know each other¿”, Iorveth asked to Letho, “The witcher¿”

“Rather well, but he has amnesia.”, answered the bald man, “I actually took the witcher by surprise when I killed Foltest.”

“Fear not, elf.”, said Letho again, glancing at Iorveth’s direction, “I know Geralt, I know his weakness.”

“Hm...”, murmured Iorveth, closing his single eye for a moment before staring at Vána, making his way to where the other Scoia’tael had gone.

Before the Dragonborn could even take a step to follow him, Letho blocked her path with his bulky figure, his golden catlike eyes meeting her blue ones.

“What is it, Letho¿”, she questioned, narrowing her eyes, not in the mood to talk to him.

“You are indeed quite impressive, Dragonborn.”, declared the bald witcher, “Watching you fight was even better than what I’ve expected. Not everyone manage to face a witcher the same way you did.”

“I’m not anyone.”, Vána basically spat her words as she spoke, earning a laugh from the man.

“That you are not.”, said him, as he turned his back to her, going after Iorveth and the Scoia’tael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we got some action :D  
> not as detailed as I wanted the fight scene to be, but writing action scenes is a challange for me... and in English it is even more challenging 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway <3
> 
> I also wanted to say that updates will get slower during the week because of my work


	7. Chapter 7

Once they all arrived at the Scoia’tael’s new hiddeout, a new cave, bigger than the previous one and located further away from Flotsam city, the Dragonborn was allowed to choose her own spot, which she did, finding herself a small chamber inside the cave, glad to find a place in which she could stay away from everyone for some moment.

She would have to hunt another deer to use its fur to avoid sleeping on the cold floor of the cavern, but at that specific moment, she just didn’t care about it or anything else for the matter, her head spinning with all recent events.

Vána tossed her spare clothes and her helmet to the floor, not caring if she would have to repair the latter because of it, wanting to get rid of her armor, unable to handle with the heat of its furs and the frustrationg which consumed her, wishing only to change to the lighter clothes the Scoia’tael gave her and perhaps sleep for the rest of the day, even though she knew she was a little stinky from sweating and should probably find a place to bath.

No matter how much she knew that death was bound to take place in a fight, having learned from experience during her time battling under the Imperial Legion banner. The Dragonborn couldn’t help but wonder how she could’ve done more to avoid the deaths of her allies, not during that time and much less now, and she kept herself thinking if things would’ve been different if she had followed the elves, using Dawnbreaker or used her Thu’um from the beginning instead of keep shooting arrows from behind.

It was impossible to say and even more impossible to change the past, of that she knew, but the mind can be a dangerous place, specially for oneself somtimes, as it can torture people into thinking every possibility, every ‘if’ of previous situations.

And as distracted as the nord was with her thoughts while she undressed, Vána didn’t hear Iorveth’s steps as he approached, not until it was too late to warn him to not come in.

“Vána, I wanted to...”, the elf started to say, startling Vána, who, wearing only her panties, yelped in surprise, crossing one of her arms over her breasts to conceal them as she didn’t use anything on her upper body under her heavy armor, using her free hand to throw one of her gloves at his direction, at pure instinct.

“Hey!”, Iorverth grumbled, getting hit by her flying glove, “I... Stop it!”, he yelped, getting hit by another glove throwned by the Dovahkiin.

“Get out of here!”, she yelled at him, with light shade of blush covering her face.

“I’m leaving! Don’t.... Don’t throw your boot at me! I’m leaving!”, Iorveth spoke, leaving her as Vána took aim of him, ready to attack the elf with one of her heavy boots.

‘Kyne’s breath!’, the Dragonborn mused to herself, sighing as she got dressed quickly before speaking.

“You can come in now, I’m fully dressed.”, she said, watching as Iorveth appeared at the corner of the entrance of the small cave chamber the Dragonborn stood, as if checking if he would be attacked again by another piece of her garments.

Vána saw as he avoided staring into her eyes, probably as embarrassed as she had been for having seen her almost completely naked, clearing his throat before he too could speak.

“I apologize for...”, he spoke, making a small gresture with his left hand, unable to pronounce the next words.

“You should announce yourself before entering a woman’s resting place, you know.”, Vána said, somewhat amused by the situation, glad to have something else to think instead of their fight against the witcher.

“Noted.”, came his answer, his single eye glancing at her briefly before he turned his gaze away from her again, sighing, “I simply came to see how are you faring...”

“What do you think¿”, she asked, incapable of not sounding sour upon remembering what she wished to forget about.

The elf didn’t answer to her question, choosing to walk in her direction but keeping away a respectful distance from the Dragonborn.

“I understand what you’re feeling, Vána.”, Iorveth confessed, closing his eye and taking a deep breath before resuming to speak, “The frustration, the anger, the guilt... Everytime I give an order to one of my men, I know too well that I may be as well sending to their deaths.”

“How do you handle it¿”, the nord questioned, her voice low.

“The truth is... I don’t, not really. But my people and I... We have to keep going. It’s the only way for us. We are the only ones who care to fight for our freedom and our rights.”, the elf stated, searching her blue eyes with his green one, “Isn’t it the same for you¿”

“What do you mean¿”, the Dragonborn blinked, not understaing his question.

“You told me about the war you fought back in your world... You fought for your beliefs, for what you thought to be the lesser evil. How did you handle it at that time, each time you saw your comrads in arms falling next to you in the middle of a battle¿”

“I...”, she blinked again, clearing her throat so as to buy time for what she was going to say, “I kept going... But that doesn’t mean...”

“It doesn’t mean you didn’t suffer for it.”, Iorveth stated, and for a moment, Vána wasn’t sure if he was still talking about her anymore.

Not knowing what to say to his last statement, the Dragonborn sat on the hard cold floor, resting her back on the wall, taking a heavy and long sigh before closing her eyes.

“What comes next¿”, she asked, not opening her eyes.

“You mean, what we’ll do now¿”, came Iorveth’s own question.

“Yes. These Blue Stripes... They now know that you’re trully here in Flotsam’s forest, and Vernon Roche heard your confession about the Scoia’tael aiding the man who killed his king. It’s a matter of time until they come after you with more than just a witcher and a single mage.”, Vána spoke, hearing Iorveth’s steps coming closer to her and the warmth of his body next to hers as he sat at her side, sighing at what she had just said.

“You’re not completely wrong. We won’t be able to stay too long here as we stayed on our previous camp. Not that we planned to, even without the presence of Roche’s forces nearby.”

“Are you talking about going to... Aerdin¿”, Vána openned her eyes, turning to see the elf, meeting the covered side of his face, earning a ‘hm’ of approval as answer, deciding to ask another question, seeming as Iorveth was willing to tell her about his plans this time.

“What’s in Aerdin that you wish to get there¿”

“Someone who can give us a place to live in peace.”, Iorveth answered her this time, turning his face to look at her as well.

“A monarch¿”, she questioned, noticing how close they were and not entirely sure how she felt about it.

“Not yet, but with our help, with the help of the Scoia’tael... She can become a queen.”, Iorveth explained, his tone dripping with unspoken admiration for this unknown woman who he wished to see with a crown.

“But there’s something stopping you from going there, isn’t it¿ I heard some of your men talking how it wouldn’t be possible to cross the river... If it’s because you lack a ship or something, I can help you to...”

“No, it’s not it.”, Iorveth sighed, “I mean, we do lack a ship for the moment, but the what truly stop us is the monster lurking into the the river... A kayran.”

“A... what¿”, Vána blinked.

“It’s a large water creature with lots of tentacles... A nasty thing from what I’ve heard.”, the elf explained, earning nothing but silence from the nord, which made him frown for a moment, opening his mouth to say something but being beated by the Dragonborn as she ended up speaking before him

“Alright... Tomorrow I’m going to kill this kayran.”

\--------------------------------------------------xxxx--------------------------------------------------

When Miraak heard Sindri talking about having receiving a letter from Venalir, he felt as if his heart would rip his chest open from how fast it beated due to his anxiety. He knew that if the dunmer spellsword had decided to write to them instead of returning from Solstheim it had to mean that he had found something that would help them.

And as it was, once the bosmer mage finished readind the letter and told him about its contents, the Atmoran was more than relieved to know he had been right about his suspicious, and the two lost no time as they went to their spared chambers at the Hall of Attainment, grabbing all their stuff in a hurry as they made their way to Windhelm.

The travel would have lasted two days if it haven’t been for a storm that forced them to seek refuge inside a cave, where they had gotten into a fight against bunch of crazy necromancers. Not one they had any troubles in finishing, of course, Miraak being the First Dragonborn and Sindri being a half decent mage himself, but one that ended up delaying them more than they wished to.

Nonetheless, they arrived at Windhelm on the next day, going straight to the port in order to find the owner of the only ship which still made travels to Solstheim, Gjalund Salt-Sage.

Miraak remembered the man slightly, not having payed to much attention to the crew of the Northen Maiden during their way back to Skyrim after the events that leaded to his so longed escape from Apocrypha.

Back at that time, he never expected to return to Solstheim as the island held so many hurtful memories from his time as a Dragon Priest, with his legacy forgotten and his temple in ruins.

That and he knew how the current inhabitants of the island, specially the Skaal, despised his very existence, calling him a traitor, spilling words of hate which he knew he deserved after everything he had done to them, slaving those who had weaker minds to rebuild his temple and his many shrines around the All-Maker Stones, readying the world for his return.

He remembered how he planned to kill the Last Dragonborn once he found the perfect opportunity, even after she had helped him, seeing the girl as naive to traded her soul to save someone who tried to have her killed many times and wished to steal all her power by devouring her soul.

Not that he had changed his mind about her being too innocent in trusting others, as he made into one of his missions to keep telling her how she would one day meet her demise for always trusting others so easily, althought with time, he started to say such things more as an habit than anything else, having come to realize that this was how Vána was. She had a kind soul, a gentle heart, and she wasn’t like him who used to seek unspeakable power.

And perhaps that’s why she was better than him in so many ways, he thought as he watched Sindri give a small sack of gold to captain Gjalund, returning to the Atmoran to tell him they would set sail at dawn on the next day.

Miraak sighed and stormed away from the bosmer without saying a word, knowing well it wasn’t his fault for them having to stay one more day in Skyrim’s frozen lands while their dunmer friend waited for them at the other side of the sea in Raven Rock.

He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with his free time as it was still noon and they would have to wait until the next morning, choosing the aimlessly walk on the streets of the ancient capital of Skyrim, assessing all of its structures and allowing himself to simply enjoy the feeling of the fallen snow.

It had been two years since he returned to Nirn, but after thousands of years stuck in Oblivion, Miraak sometimes wondered if he would ever be able to get used to the mortal realm again. Sometimes it still felt as a dream to him, a dream which he dreaded the possibility of having to wake up from.

A pathetic notion, he thought, deciding to go to the White Phial to buy more ingredients to the potion he used to be able to sleep without the nightmares of Apocrypha’s halls that plagued his nights.

After that, he remained the of the day hearing every single one of the bard’s songs in Candlehearth Hall, having memorized all the lyrics she sang after the dunmer had already repeated them at least twice.

Miraak was glad when he saw Sindri as he came to his direction all covered in fur armor and his clan’s tribal red tattoos adorning his face which made he look like some low profile bandit in Miraak’s mind, instead of the clever mage and scholar the bosmer had proved himself to be – no matter how annoying Sindri managed to be sometimes.

And as the other sat in front of him, offering some cold ale to Miraak, which he denied, the Atmoran noticed how Sindri seemed to be tired from doing whatever he had been doing the whole day.

“I’m not going to drink... Don’t want to have a hangover when we sail tomorrow.”, he explained, turning his gaze away from the bosmer who had been staring at him in utter confusion after he denied the drink.

“Oh, well... You know you don’t have to get a hangover, right¿ I mean, it only happens if you drink too much, althought... In your case, you don’t have to drink too much to start getting drunk. It’s probably due to all the time you spent without having any alcohol in your system.”, the bosmer started to chatter, non-stop, as he usually did whenever the matter at hands wasn’t too serious, such as the Atmoran’s lack of resistence to any alcoholic drink.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s probably best if you don’t drink.”, continued the elf.

“Are you done¿”, asked Miraak, rubbing his own forehead.

“Did you eat anything already¿”, questioned Sindri in return, taking a long sip of the ale in his hand.

“Yes, I did. And you don’t have to keep watching over me, Sindri, I can take care of my self.”, he sighed, deciding to stare at the flames of the candle which gave the name of the very inn they were resting at.

“I would have believed in your words, were not for your lack of self-care when we were at Winterhold.”

“You already made your point there, no need to repeat yourself...”, said Miraak, glancing towards the bosmer, almost glaring at him for being patronized in such way, before softening his gaze, reminding himself that it was because Sindri worried about him. They were friends – or the closest things Miraak ever had of a friend.

“Thank you.”, the Atmoran spoke, earning a confused expression from the bosmer.

“For what¿ There could be many things, you know...”, Sindri said, taking another sip of his drink, making Miraak roll his eyes, holding himself back from glaring at the bosmer again. 

“You know what¿ Forget I ever thanked you for anything.”, Miraak said, his tone betrying him a little as he didn’t sound so harsh as he intended to.

“Pfft...”, the bosmer chuckled, sipping his ale one more time before lefting it on the table at his side, “Get some sleep, Miraak... Neither Solstheim not Neloth will go anywhere and we can’t do nothing but wait until tomorrow. I mean... Solstheim is surely not going anywhere, Neloth I can’t say for sure but I hope...”

Miraak stood to his feet, not wanting to listen to another of Sindri’s rants, making his way to the room he rented for the night so he could drink his potion and sleep, for at the end, the bosmer was right: all they could do was wait.

And so he did, falling into a dreamless sleep, thanks to his concoction, waking up before sunrise and heading straight to the Northen Maiden, planning on eating something once they were already on the sea.

\--------------------------------------------------xxxx--------------------------------------------------

Their trip to Solstheim was, luckily uneventful, and the Northen Maiden arrived within the captain’s stipulated time, which had seemed like an eternity to both Miraak and Sindri, as both grew more and more anxious to meet with Venalir and speak with the Telvanni mage about his idea of getting into Apocrypha without having to resort to one of the Black Books they tossed into the sea.

And once Miraak laid his eyes on the approaching island, he was strucked by longing, his mind reminding him of the constructions of his time, painting a scenary that no longer existed, as the southern shores of his homeland were now filled with ashes from Morrowind instead of the white snow which once covered the entirety of Solstheim. It was a reminder to him of how much the world had changed in his abscence, of how he no longer fitted among the people of Nirn, a reminder which made the longing give place to a different feeling, one he couldn’t point out exactly as he felt a not forming in his stomach.

It was a feeling he didn’t wish to dwell in nor he had the time to do so, choosing to follow Sindri silently as they left the ship and went to the Retching Netch to find Venalir, was supposed to wait for them there.

The pair had, however, to state their business on the island before being able to enter the city to the second councilor of Raven Rock, Adril Arano, who unashamely glared at Miraak from the moment he laid his eyes on the Atmoran to the moment the pair entered the inn.

Had he had come to Raven Rock in another situation, Miraak would probably wandered aroud the small city, assessing Morrowind’s unique style of architecture, so unlikely to the style of his people’s own construction and even more contrasting with the cities he was now used to back in Skyrim.

But he had much more pressing matters to deal with during his current staying in Solstheim, and Miraak was relieved when he saw Venalir waiting for him, just as he stated he would be on his letter.

“Ven!”, called out the bosmer, not caring one bit when all the patrons at the inn stared at him, judging for raising his voice as he walked towards one of his best friends, followed by Miraak, who only nodded at the spellsword so as to greet him.

“Sindri, Miraak.”, the dunmer greeted, much more reserved than his mage friend, before speaking again, “Do you wish to rest for a while or do you prefer to go to Tel Mithryn at once¿”

“Let’s go at once, there’s no time to waste here.”, Miraak said, interrupting the bosmer from saying anything as he had just opened his mouth.

“Alright.”, nodded Venalir, turning to Geldis Sadri, the owner of the inn, “Put everything on my count, I’ll pay you once I return, Geldis.”

“Noted.”, the older dunmer said as the trio made their way out of the inn, heading straight out of Raven Rock’s wall and into the ashen shores of Solstheim.

It wasn’t a long walk from Raven Rock to the Telvanni mushroom tower, yet, as Miraak and Sindri seemed more tired from their sea travel than they wished admit, the trio remained silent up until they were almost at Tel Mithryn, when the bosmer – obviously – decided to break the silence.

“So, what did you and Neloth found exactly¿”, he asked, the same question Miraak had been wanting to ask altought he had thought better to wait until they met the Telvanni wizard.

“It’s... A little complicated to be honest.”, Venalir started, his voice muffled by the red scarf he used to protect the lower half of his face from the ashes, “We won’t be exactly opening a portal to Apocrypha, it’s more like... Opening a portal to anywhere in particular from Oblivion.”

“Wait, wait... What¿”, Sindri spoke again, halting his movements, which made both Miraak and Venalir stop as well and stare at him once they noticed he wasn’t following them.

“What do you mean you’re planning on open a portal to some random spot in Oblivion¿ By the Green, are you mad¿”, he asked once more, raising his voice in disbelief.

“I... I know, Sindri. Trust me when I say that master Neloth and I already had many discussions about doing this.”, the dunmer admitted, turning his red eyes to Miraak’s direction, now speaking to him as the spellsword noticed Miraak’s closed expression, “It was the best we could think of...”

“Then you didn’t think well enough.”, the Atmoran stated, “Do you think I haven’t thought about this ritual, Venalir¿ Because I did... But the risks of getting lost into another plane of Oblivion, one that could be even worst than Apocrypha...”

“Are too high.”, the dunmer said, interrupting Miraak, “Neloth said so as well. He had also said that you might’ve know this ritual too.”

“Then why did you made us come here¿”, the First Dragonborn questioned again.

“Because we decided to reshape the ritual.”, explained the spellsword, actually taking Miraak by surprise with his words.

“Wait, wait, wait! What do you mean by reshaping the ritual¿”, asked Sindri, approaching his friends, “Is this even possible¿”

“We don’t know. But that’s what we want to find out... That’s why I asked you to come.”, spoke Venalir, making a small pause as he assessed his friends’ reactions, “We know that this ritual leads us to Oblivion, unbeit to a random destination, but we wish to try... To find a way to open a portal to where we actually want to go: to Apocrypha.”

“That’s... That’s insane! And too risky!”, declared the bosmer, “Please, Miraak... Tell him to reconsider it. We can go to Cyrodiil, maybe go to the College of Whispers, maybe...”

“We should try it.”, said Miraak, cutting of Sindri’s sentence.

“Oh, please, no, no, no! Tell me you’re not....”, the bosmer mage sighed, giving up on saying anything else as he saw the unwavering decision on both Venalir and Miraak’s eyes.

“Fine. We’ll try to change this ritual... And I trully hope that I won’t regret having agreed with you two.”, spoke Sindri again.

‘If only we had another option.’, Miraak thought as they resumed their way to Tel Mithryn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a slightly smaller chapter, but I figured it would be better to separate it from the next part
> 
> thanks again for all the support and kudos <3  
> and if you don't like the story such as the person who commented on the last chapter, well, don't read the story and go find something you enjoy to read ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	8. Chapter 8

Sometimes it was hard for Iorveth to keep up with the Dragonborn.

Iorveth had seen her using her shouts against the witcher, how she made the very earth beneath her feet shake as she sprinted towards the man, her blows as fast as lightining.

By the old gods! He had actually felt the power of a single word of one of her shouts on him, being pushed to the ground by the sheer force of the Dragonborn’s Voice as if he weighted.

Vána had also told him that she had slayed more than one dragon – even one which was supposedly the harbinger of the end of times from her world, defeated a high vampire and helped to change the tides of a civil war.

And yet, Iorveth’s mind still struggled believe all of this, as she seemed too outwordly, which he knew to be truth, but no matter what he saw, his brain had trouble in linking the image of the kind woman who felt guilty for not being able to avoid the deaths of many Scoia’tael and was currently helping a few wounded ones, with the same woman he had seen fighting earlier with the very speed of a tornado, a legendery hero with the blood and soul of a dragon, who wished to fight against a kayran for him and his cause.

No, not exactly for him, Iorveth mused, pushing the thought away as he shook his head. The Dragonborn had made it very clear she didn’t agree with his methods and was only helping them because, between the Scoia’tael and the humans who chased them, she thought them to be less wrong than the ones of her own kind.

Although Vána was clearly nothing like any dh’oine Iorveth had ever met before And as Iorveth watched her use her healing spells on one of his comrades who was bleeding badly from his spot, resting his back on the wall, arms crossed, always the authoritarive figure, he wondered if the Dragonborn was so different to the dh’oines of his own world because of her foreign origin, if there were others like her back in her world... or if she was actually an exception and the real reason being the dragon blood cursing through her veins.

Perhaps due to his known hatred for the humankind, Iorveth preferred tha latter option, not wanting to taint the image he had of the Dragonborn with the idea of her being so... _human_. Because if Iorveth had learned anything from his many years in his long and arduous life, it was how humanity, no matter its origins, knew nothing but cruelty, hating everything which wasn’t considered human enough for them.

Whatever the reason was, however, Iorveth realized he actually trusted on her. It scared him how much he kept thinking about the Dragonborn, how much he was now placing his faith on her, perhaps even more than he did with Saskia.

And now that he had seen her almost naked, even if by accident... He didn’t want to think about it, about her skin which seemed smooth even with some few scars he managed to peek before being attacked by her gloves.

But between wanting something and getting said thing there was a huge gap, and Iorveth felt angry with himself for thinking about the Dragonborn’s body, specially after having heard her screams when she was having a nightmare on the other night. He haven’t realized the meaning behind them at the beginning, but the more the woman thrashed and begged in her sleep, the more he understood what was probably going on in her nightmares, having seen the same thing happening with many she-elves the Scoia’tael had rescued and recruited.

Which only made him feel worse with himself for thinking about Vána in such way. He was a man, he enjoyed the sight of a beautiful woman and even though he wouldn’t indulge in _certain_ activities too often, he wasn’t blind from his two eyes. And the Dragonborn was a gorgeous woman. A woman who was making his head dizzy as he tried to ignore the warmth he felt as he kept thinking about her.

It scared him to ackownledge this feeling, because dragon blood or not, Vána wasn’t an Aen Seidhe, she wasn’t one of his kind, not even from his world and she wasn’t planning on staying forever, she...

She was coughing blood.

It wasn’t too much blood, but the sight made some of the Scoia’tael who were closer to Vána go to her side immediatly, giving her support so she wouldn’t fall as her legs trembled. Seeing this, everything around Iorveth seemed to lose its importance and he dashed into her direction, taking the place of the she-elf who held the Dragonborn, allowing the human to lean on him for support.

“Don’t worry...”, she muttered, slurring the words, the blood dripping from her chin and her eyelids seeming heavy as she appeared to be close of fainting, “I’m... I just need to rest a little...”

“Vána! Vána!”, Iorveth called her, as he felt her going limp on his arms, taking her in a bride style to one of the empty improvised cots, noticing all eyes of the Scoia’tael on him, but choosing to ignore them all.

“What happened¿”, he asked, turning his gaze to the Scoia’tael who had been next to her when she started to cough blood.

“I... I don’t know.”, spoke the she-elf who first aided Vána, her own voice trembling as she explained what she saw, “The Dragonborn seemed to be fine, healing those with more serious wounds with her spells and then...”

“Shit...”, was all he said, remembering the other time she had used her healing spells and she had also passed out, figuring out it had to be connect to it and not because some internal wound from her fight against the witcher or she would have had fainted before.

“Go call one of the healers.”, Iorveth ordered to the she-elf, not even take his eye away from the unconsciouss woman laying on the cot, still remaining at the Dragonborn’s side once the healer came and checked on her, telling the one-eyed elf that there wasn’t much they could do but allow the human to rest and wait for her to wake up, if his suspicions about her sudden faint being related to her magic were right.

So, uncapable of doing anything else to help, Iorveth forced himself to move away from Vána, glancing at her time to time, as he continued on with his duties, unable to focus on his tasks as he knew he should, and after having seen many Scoia’tael die on that same day and the stress of watching Vána pass out on his own arms made him end up with a sour mood for the rest of the day.

He didn’t ask anyone for news of the Dragonborn, but Iorveth was pretty aware his men knew he was worried by the way they looked at him, which only left the elf even more uncomfortable about the feeling on his chest he wished so badly to deny.

Oh, how he wished to deny it. But around past midnight, as soon as one of the healers went to after him to tell the Dragonborn was awake, Iorveth had no other thought in his mind as he strode to her direction, not even pretending to the Scoia’tael who weren’t sleeping yet how eager he was to see the nord.

Iorveth took a waterskin before approaching Vána, who stared at his direction once she heard his steps, and the elf felt a surge of relief as he noticed she was no longer as pale as her silver-hair.

“Feeling better¿”, he asked, sitting in front of her, offering the waterskin.

“A little...”, the nord said, her voice sounding rough from dryness, before she took the waterskin from his hand, “Thanks.”

“Make nothing of it...”, Iorveth spoke, making a pause to give her some time to drink a little, “You made us worry.”, he confessed.

“I... I didn’t expect...”, she sighed before clearing her throat, lowering her gaze to the ground as she stared to nothing in particular before trying to speak again, “When I first used my healing spell here I thought that I had got exhausted because of the affects of traveling between planes... But now... Now I felt as if my energy was being drained from me to my spells, exactly as it happened on that first time.”

He watched her for a while, taking in count her words before speaking his mind.

“So it really was because of your magic, as I suspected.”

Vána looked at him, not saying anything as she lifted one of her eyebrowns, questioning the elf.

“I didn’t get to be called a ‘woodland fox’ from nothing, you know...”, Iorveth said, giving her a mischevious smile before turning serious again, “But yes, I figured out it must have been the case because I’ve never seen or heard about someone casting spells the way you do... Not without having consequences.”

“Consequences¿”, she asked, before drinking more water.

“I’m not exactly an expert on the matter... But I do know that mages have to be careful when using their spells.”, the elf explained, or a least tried to.

“That’s... different from things back on my world.”, the Dragonborn stated, furrowing her eyebrowns.

“You did said to me before that magic was something natural to your people. ‘Natural as breathing’, if I can recall...”

“Yes, it is... My friend Sindri told me it is because of the rifts between Mundus and Aetherious, which allows us channeling our magicka from the Aedric realm.”, the nord explained, “And now that I think about it... It does make a lot of sense why I felt drained of energy.”

“Meaning¿”, Iorveth asked, this time, him being the one to furrow his eyebrowns.

“Sindri also told me once that our souls are linked to Aetherious... And that’s why most souls return to it once people pass away. We are part of it in some way, that’s why everyone has the potential to cast magic.”, she turned to him, staring straight into Iorveth’s green eye, “Do you get where I’m coming to¿”

“No... Not really.”, the Scoia’tael admitted, earning a brief sigh from the nord.

“This world is not connected to Aetherious – at all. Meaning the only way I can channel my magicka is from myself.”, Vána stated.

“That’s... That means....”

“That means that it’s probably wiser for me to avoid casting any spells, unless I find myself in a dire situation.”, she sighed, not sounding all too pleased by the idea.

“Probably wiser...”, Iorveth repeated, not exactly knowing what to say but understanding the situation well enough, “And it’s probably wiser for you to forget about trying to kill the kayran tomorrow.”

“Hm¿ What¿”, Vána stared at him, in shock, “What do you mean¿ No, no! I’ll go after the kayran... We need to get you Scoia’tael out of Flotsam!”

“I know, but I don’t want you to risk yourself.”, Iorveth said in a flat tone.

“Why not¿ Aren’t all of you always risking your necks everyday¿”, the Dragonborn questioned, narrowing her eyes at him, an action he soon mimicked from her.

“It’s not your fight, not your cause...”

“It became my fight and my cause the moment I raised my sword to fight alongside you, Iorveth.”, said Vána, interrupting the Aen Seidhe from finishing his sentence, “And you shouldn’t worry about me fighting this kayran. I know I got careless today, I was caught by surprise by that witcher... A mistake I won’t make again. But I’ve slayed many dragons. I fought against vampires and even daedra. And I’ll kill this creature – this kayran, so we can go to Upper Aerdin and your soon-to-be queen.”

“Bloede dh’oine!”, Iorveth cursed, shaking his head, unable to believe in such stubbornness.

“I only need to rest for a while... You’ll see, I’ll be better tomorrow.”, Vána murmured, almost as if she was trying to convince herself, putting the empty waterskin aside to lay back on the fur cot.

“Do you always have to act like a hero, Vána¿”, the Aen Seidhe asked, earning a bitter laugh from the silver-haired human.

“Someone once asked me the same question... He warned me that I would end up killed from trying to help everyone.”, the Dragonborn stated, avoidind the look of Iorveth’s eye.

“And I’m afraid that I’ll have to agree with this person.”, Iorveth said, both falling into silence after it.

He didn’t know why he felt so angry for her wanting to put herself in danger for him – no, not him, for the Scoia’tael, as Iorveth knew he wouldn’t feel the same way were it another person. Probably because his men would end up listening to him if he said it was better to drop the matter and find another way to deal with the kayran, only resorting to fighting the creature in the last case scenario, one in which he and the other Squirrels would face the obligation of putting their lives in danger for their goals and their freedom.

But it was hard to keep up with the Dragonborn.

The dh’oine woman was stubborn as he was, if Iorveth had to admit. And maybe that’s why he felt himself drawned to her, no matter how much he kept telling himself it was a terrible idea.

\--------------------------------------------------xxxx--------------------------------------------------

It took more strength to get up from her short sleep than Vána had predicted. Not that she was unused to short nights of sleep as life as a traveler in Skyrim was not an easy and peaceful one, with all sorts of animals, creatures and bandits attacking - even dragons who still refused to follow Paarthunax’ Way of the Voice would sometimes attack her group too, only to end up facing not one, but two Dragonborns.

But the truth was, as much as the Dragonborn hated to admit, the consequences of casting magic this time were worser than the first time she did it in this world, and she feared the idea of having to use any spell again while she was not yet in Mundus. Vána would never say it out loud, though, not wanting to hear Iorveth bragging for being right.

She noticed how he kept glaring at her stubbornness, judging her from afar as she prepared to go hunting the kayran, choosing to ignore it and stay away from the Scoia’tael commander. The elf had already tried to dissuade her from fighting the creature many times before both ended up falling asleep, and they had discussed about it more than twice, yet Vána felt she was their best option to deal with the kayran.

The Dragonborn had killed dozens of dragons back in Skyrim, and while the nord knew she wasn’t invincible, her Thu’um gave her more advantages than the Aen Seidhe could ever dream of. This time, she wouldn’t be so careless as she had been in her fight against the witcher.

With this thought in mind, Vána braided her hair neatly so it wouldn’t be a nuisance for her during the fight, choosing to not wear her helmet – a risk she was willing to take, if only so she wouldn’t pass out with the heat which was particularly strong on that day.

And once she was done with her braid, the Dragonborn, still ignoring Iorveth’s stares, went to check with the elven scouters about the kayran’s latest sight.

From what the nord learned, the creature, while it was not attacking the docks of Flotsam city, would often rest nearby a shipwreck the the creature itself had caused, and that she should also be careful for any nekkers’ nest on the way to the creature’s lair.

Vána was thankful for the elves’ warnings about the nekkers, but didn’t seem to get worried about the possibility to find them – she was in fact already expecting to meet these pests on her way to the kayran, for whenever she tagged along with the Scoia’tael hunting parties, the would almost always come across nekkers, which even though presented no real problems for the Dragonborn were certainly annoying.

She wasn’t planning on turning back to seach of Iorveth with her eyes, however, something made the nord do it and she stared right into the elf’s green eye for a moment that extended itself for more than the Dragonborn felt necessary and she caught herself remembering how close their bodies had on her resting spot in the cavern.

It was a feeling Vána didn’t feel like dwelling too much into, knowing once she did so she wouldn’t be able to continue to deny whatever it was, whatever she dared not give a name. Besides, the silver-haired nord was sure that she was probably overthinking about it, and so she forced herself to break their eye contact, not before realizing the worry in his green eye, and followed the indications she got from the Scoia’tael scouts to get to location of the kayran’s lair, hoping she wouldn’t end up lost in the midst of the forest as it was the first time she dared to wander through it completely alone.

The Dragonborn couldn’t help but to think about her shield-brothers and Miraak as she made her way through the woods, the sensation of going after a beast in its lair to akin to her adventures from her homeland, when their merry band went on some quest to find a vampire lair or rogue mages and their foul experiments, or whatever the people of Skyrim sent them after.

Sometimes it felt as if no one in Skyrim managed to do anything without their group, from fiding a stolen jewel to fiding a stray dog, which was actually a daedric prince companion. Everyone always sought their help, and both Sindri and Miraak would always complain about how people would ask for such menial tasks to someone like the Last Dragonborn instead of seeking another person to help them.

Yet, Vána and Venalir kept on choosing to help those who came for them, sometimes for money and some other times not, claiming that if people sought them it was probably because they had no one else to, probablu because both knew how harsh life was for those less favoured in Skyrim, unlike the atmoran and the bosmer who had grown in different environments.

Perhaps that’s why Vána would sometimes meddle in situations she should not have, being used to people basically begging her for interneve for them. Both Miraak and Iorveth had called it as ‘a hero complex’, and both had also claimed their beliefs of how she would one day end up dying while trying to fix someone else’s troubles.

Right as they probably were, all Vána could think was that at least she would likely to have an honoured death so her soul would be welcomed in Sovngarde, such was the dream of every nord.

Not that she was planning on dying in this world. No, she had to find a way to go back to Nirn, to return to her family and their adventures. There was still much to be done, the Thalmor were still scheming for whatever they planned, and by Shor’s Bones, she totally wanted to aid in their fall and stop those altmer supremacists from torturing her kinsmen.

And Vána was glad for having Dawnbreaker with her when she, as predicted, encountered nekkers, unlike on her previous encounters with these pesty monsters, for shad come to learn how agile nekkers could be, and even with her bow skills and precision, it was easy to lose a good number of arrows while trying to shot them. But with a daedric sword in hands, she realized it was much more easier and even less annoying.

They were few at first, and the nord striked creature after creature as they marched in her direction, rolling away from their claws with ease, having Dawnbreaker’s blade cauterazing the nekkers’ bodies as the Dragonborn slicing them in many pieces, feeling disgusted by the putrid blood of the nekkers which spattered over her face, missing her helmet on that moment – and she would surely have to wash the furs of her Ancient Nord armor as well.

The Dovahkiin realized, however, she must had found a nest once she took notice the number of nekkers coming her way after the first wave of creatures, choosing to use her Fire Breath Shout to finish them all before they managed to corner her with their numbers, ending those that managed to escape from her blade.

“ _Yol toor shul_!”, her voice echoed with the Shout, burning the nekkers and putting some trees on fire as well, which prompted her to use her Frost Breath Shout to end the fire before it could scatter across the forest.

“ _Fo krah diin_!”, shouted her again, before sheathing Dawnbreaker and resuming her way to the kayran’s lair.

She was surprised and even a little startled, however, by the sounds of an unnatural storm she saw coming from near the shipwreck she was meant to go, which Vána was sure it wasn’t supposed to happen as the sky showed no signs of rain clouds and much less of a thundering storm such as the one she heard, rushing to its direction with Auriel’s bow in hand.

Using her Whirlwind Sprint Shout to get even faster, Vána arrived at the scene in time to see a mage with an strange hairstyle casting the lightning spells which caused the thunder storm she had seen from afar, and a white-haired man rolling on the floor to avoid the kayran’s tentacles and its furious strikes – and the nord quickly recognized him as the witcher she had fought due to his movements and his two-handed steel sword.

“By Ysmir’s beard!”, the Dragonborn said, staring at the enormous beast which was still attacking the witcher – Geralt, if she remembered well his name from what she had heard Vernon Roche calling him – as the man used what seemed to be some sorts of spells on its tentacles.

When Iorveth said the kayran was huge... She had not expected it to be _this_ huge.

“Will you help us or will you just stand there and watch¿!”, called out the witcher, catching Vána by surprise for a brief moment before she readened her bow and started to shot some arrows at the kayran while Geralt acted as a bait, jumping away from all the creature’s six tentacles.

Thanks to Vána’s skills and the witcher distraction, the Sun burning arrows found their way to the creature’s carapace with ease, seeming to cause enough pain to make the kayran shrieked in agony and anger. However, even with Auriel’s bow’s damage, shooting arrows at the beast soon proved to be of no avail, as the arrows weren’t able to penetrate too deep on the creature’s hide, and end up serving only to irritate the giant kayran, which increased the aggressiveness of its attacks towards Geralt, slamming the floor as it tried to smash the white-haired witcher into a pulp.

“Yrden! Trap it with the Yrden!”, shouted the mage, while Vána traded her bow for Dawnbreaker, running to the witcher’s side to aid him against the creature.

“You come down and trap it!”, Geralt yelled back, irritated, before rolling away from another tentacle.

“ _Mul qah diiv_!”, the Dragonborn shouted, using Dragon Aspect and striking the nearest kayran’s tentacle after rolling out of the way from creature’s attack as it tried to smash her once it took notice of the nord’s presence, earning a pained growl from the beast as it retreated said tentacle in pain.

“I’ll distract the kayran!”, said Vána, “If you know how to trap it, then do it!”

“Fine!”, the witcher grunted, placing what the Dragonborn could only name as some sort of rune on the ground, on various spots, in order to trap the crature’s tentacles, while the nord herself dodged its attacks, using her Fire Breath shout to continue taunting the kayran, wanting it to keep on focusing on her.

The kayran screeched in agony as it felt its hide burning from the Dragonborn’s Fire Breath, thrashing its six tentacles in all directions, hitting the ruins of some ancient construction next to its body while it tried to back away from the Dragonborn before trying to smash the nord in pure rage.

“It’s angry! Watch out!”, yelled the sorceress again, and Vána caught herself wondering if the mage was actually planning on helping them instead just stand behind and shout the obvious at them.

“The signs are ready!”, Geralt shouted, choosing to ignore the sorceress, glancing at Vána’s direction, “Use your fire breath or whatever is that you do to get its attention on the traps’ direction!”

Upon hearing the witcher’s words, Vána did as she was told to, shouting her Fire Breath again on the kayran’s direction while leading its tentacles to the traps the witcher placed on the ground. And once the kayran’s tentacles hitted the exact spot of Geralt’s traps, blue lightining encircled them, and the giant creature found itself unable to move its tentacles.

In silent sync, both Dragonborn and witcher moved to strike the kayran’s trapped tentacles, going for the nearest ones as they used their respective swords and severed the beast’s appendages from its body, neither having too much trouble in doing so thanks to Vána’s daedric blade and Geralt’s silver sword.

They didn’t have time to cut more than two tentacles as the effect of Yrden started to fade and the kayran managed to break free from the witcher’s sign, but at least, Vána mused, it would be two less appendages to worry about.

But before the Dragonborn managed to celebrate their deeds, the kayran, having backed away from the pair of warriors after losing two of its limbs, opened its mouth to spit venom on their direction, barely giving them enough time to escape, as Geralt dodged the venom spit and Vána used her Become Ethereal Shout to evade to kayran’s attack

Vána noticed Geralt’s wide and shocked eyes staring at her ghostly image for a moment, before he returned his attention to the creature again, prompting her to do the same once the effect of her shout faded.

“What now¿”, Vána yelled, still glowing with the golden and red lights of her Dragon Aspect.

“Distract the kayran! I’ll use Yrden again!”, answered the witcher, and they repeated the same strategy from before, with Vána intercalating between dodging and burning the tentacles with her Fire Breath, leading them to Geralt’s signs and trapping them once more.

“ _Mid vur shaan_!”, the nord shouted, using her Battle Fury shout, enhancing the speed of the witcher’s attacks, both going to the nearest tentacles to cut them off as they did with the previous ones, not using her Elemental Fury shout for herself as she trusted the effects of the Dragon Aspect enough to help her.

She heard the witcher cursing in surprise as he realized the effects of her Thu’um over him, but said nothing as Dawnbreaker’s blade splited the kayran’s tentacle, amputating another of its limbs.

Two less tentacles, only two more remained and it was enough for the Dragonborn to feel confident enough to charge on the beast’s direction, wanting to finish the battle.

Vána used two first words of her Whirlwind Sprint to avoid the venom spit the kayran threw in her direction, taking proffit on the momentum of her Sprint to jump over one of the two remaining tentacles of the creature, thrusting Dawnbreaker on it so she wouldn’t fall as the kayran started to thrash its remaining limbs, both in pain from the daedric blade burning the insides of its appendage and wishing to get free from the Dragonborn.

“Watch out!”, she heard Geralt yelling, grumbling herself as the kayran hitted its tentacle on the same ruins from before, feeling the impact of the creature’s force against the ancient construction. 

It repeated the same action again and again, forcing the Dragonborn to tighten her grip on Dawnbreaker’s hilt, feeling the heat emanating of the daedric relic on her face due to its proximity to it as the Dovahkiin held on to life to Meridia’s artifact, until the kayran managed to destroy the ancient ruins, causing it to fall right on top of the giant creature, crushing half of its body with its weight.

The Dragonborn almost didn’t have time to jump away from the kayran’s tentacle with her sword before everything came crashing down on top of them, using her Slow Time shout as soon as she heard the cracking of the bricks, which was the sole reason she actually managed to escape.

Vána heard the witcher’s steps coming her way and much without thinking, accepted his hand as he helped her get to her feet after she fell to the ground and time started to move normaly.

Not her most glorious kill, but Vána surely wasn’t going to complain.

“How the hell did you...¿”, Geralt started to ask, probably wondering how the Dragonborn managed to escape from an almost certain death, not being able to accompany her movements during the effects of her Slow Time shout.

However, before the witcher managed to finish his sentence, a loud screech came from behind them.

“Kyne’s breath... It hasn’t died yet¿”, the Dragonborn cursed, her Dragon Aspect finally faiding away as she took heavy breaths, turning to the kayran’s direction, being pushed away by Geralt from a large rock the beast threw at them, wishing to crush both warriors as well.

She groaned as she fell to the ground again, noticing the witcher jumping over the fallen constructions, heading to the kayran’s body with his silver sword in hand.

“Do you magic shout again!”, he yelled.

“My wha-... Which one¿”, Vána asked.

“The one you used to make me faster!”, Geralt answered, dodging another large rock, and the Dragonborn used her Battle Fury shout again, as the witcher asked.

And with the Thu’um’s buff added to Geralt’s already enhanced agility and speed, the mutante managed to run past the lasting tentacles attacks, jumping over the kayran to drop a bomb onto it and leaping off the giant beast before the deviced exploded.

It had been the Dragonborn’s time to watch the witcher prowess in awe, much to her distaste, as the kayran bursted open with the bomb behind Geralt, its flesh and internal mucuous spitting everywhere due to the explosion – including on Vána, in a disgusting sight which Vána surely wasn’t going to forget so soon.

“That was...”, came the voice of the sorceress from behind, and the Dragonborn turned to glance ar her as the witcher strode next to the nord, “We did it! Not a bad fight.”

“Yeah... ‘We’ being me and the witcher, you mean.”, spatted Vána, annoyed by the sorceress lack of help.

“You...”, the woman stared at her, frowning, “Who are you¿ What sort of magic was that you used against the kayran¿”

“A powerful kind of magic, that’s for sure...”, said Geralt, and Vána turned her gaze towards the witcher, assessing the white-haired man, “I don’t think I would have managed to slay the kayran if weren’t for you. Would you mind telling us about your strange magic¿”

“I see no reason to tell you about it as our current alliance is nothing but temporary.", answered the Dragonborn, “There’s blood of my fallen comrades in your hands witcher... And were not for our mutal aid against the kayran, I would challenge you in order to avenge them.”

The witcher sighed, seeming tired from hearing her words before speaking.

“As you wish then...”, was all he said with a sigh, sheathing his silver sword, making it clear he had no desire of fighting her, “Something tells me it won’t be the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

“Something tells me the same thing, witcher... Until then.”, Vána said, wiping the kayran’s blood from her face and also sheathing her own blade, before glancing from the witcher to the sorceress.

She was sure that Iorveth would get mad at her once she told him that she had let Geralt live, but her nordic honour would never allow her to kill an ally, even a previous enemy in which she had had to fight side by side as in the witcher’s case.

Vána only hoped that the elf would undertand it. And if not... Well, she hoped he would at least focus more on the fact she had helped slay the kayran.

Her vengeance would have to take place on another day, the Dragonborn silently mused to herself, as she turned away from the pair to return to the Scoia’tael camp.

Now, all she needed was to find a way to help the Scoia’tael cross the Pontar Valley to the city of Vergen in Upper Aerdin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods... It took me four days to write the kayran fight, and I must have rewrited it at least twice yet I'm still not sure I liked the result *cries in Brazilian*  
> But my best friend told me it was good so I'll be trusting her... :'D
> 
> Also, I must say it's horrible to be a multishipper because while I'm happy that something's going on between Vána and Iorveth, I'm also sad for poor Miraak hahaha
> 
> I hope you enjoy it <3


	9. Chapter 9

Returning to the Scoia’tael camp soon proved to be much more difficult than the way to the Kayran’s lair, as the forest seemed like a maze to Vána, who couldn’t remember the path she had taken, noticing how the day soon became night as she kept walking aimlessly.

In fact, the Dragonborn felt as if she was walking in circles, yet she was unsure if she had truly passed the same tree twice or whether Flotsam’s forest really looked the same no matter where she went and she was heading to somewhere far from where she wanted to go. How the Aen Seidhe never managed to get lost was a mystery to her, and the nord had to admit she admire them for being able to navigate so smoothly in the midst of these woods.

She, on the other hand, was sticky with sweat and the gory remains of the kayran after it exploded with the witcher’s bomb, which smelled horrible and seemed to attract even more nekkers to her.

The nord pondered if it was because they thought it was the smell of some dying creature or it was due the nighttime, cutting them down as they came to her until she got too tired to keep swinging Dawnbreaker, choosing to use her Dismat Shouts and managing to scare the nekkers away. Vána wondered for a brief moment, as she watched the ugly creatures running away from her, why she hadn’t used this particular Shout before instead of actually fighting against the nekkers, both when she sought the way to the kayran and now that she wished to find the path back to the elven camp, as it would have saved her a lot of energy and strength.

A horrible decision she would keep in mind as not to repeat again, Vána thought to herself, wondering about the scold she would have heard from the Companions about saving her strength once in an unknown environment, specially from Vilkas, as he was the member of the Circle who accepted to train Vána and Venalir with the sword in order to help them in their quest against Alduin and its dragon followers four years ago.

Although... Vána surely would prefer to listen to any of Vilkas’ harsh words if that would’ve mean she could return to Nirn. The more the silver-haired nord spent in this world, the more she got into its political’s mess, the more she missed the semi-peaceful state Skyrim was able to enjoy after the end of the Civil War and the scattering of the remaining rebels. Not that she believed it would remain as such for too much longer, which was another reason she needed to return home.

Sighing, Vána decided to take a break, resting her back against the trunk of a tree, breathing heavily due to her fatigue, cursing the heat of the forest and the blood and fleshy bits of the kayran she couldn’t remove from the furs of her armor, which was already a burden of its own as it didn’t help at all with the hot weather.

Iorveth had said they were at the north of the Continent, then why was it so hot at the north¿ And if it was so hot there, how would be the South of this Continent, then¿ Were the questions in her mind in which Vána didn’t have time to dwell any further as she heard some movement nearby, readening Auriel’s Bow in her hands.

To her relief, however, the nord noticed the green light armor of the Scoia’tael among the leaves, realizing they were purposely showing themselves to her, most likely wishing to avoid being shouted apart by the Dragonborn’s Thu’um, and Vána couldn’t help but smile briefly, relieved to meet friendly faces that could aid her.

Soon, however, the nord snoted how her heart was beating faster with antecipation as she wondered if a certain green-eyed Aen Seidhe was with the group, her eyes searching for Iorveth’s signature red bandana among the elves, only to find none.

There she went again, thinking about the leader of the Squirrels.

‘Shor’s bonés... Get a hold of yourself.’, Vána thought, shaking her head before she strode at the Scoia’tael’ scouts’ direction, not knowing whether she was actually happy or not for not seeing the elf she had been looking for.

“Lady Dragonborn.”, called one of the elves, “Are you alright¿”

“Yes, yes... Just a little tired after fighting the kayran.”, the nord answered, explaining her tired state, and the elf wided his eyes at her words.

“You... You killed it, then¿”, he asked, in awe.

“Had help.”, Vána grumbled, still unhappy for having had the aid of the witcher, “But yes... The kayran will be no longer a problem for us. What are you doing here¿”

“Wow...”, the elf blinked, as if breaking away from a spell, altough the nord still noticed him eyeing her as if she was some sort of a savior, like the guards from Whiterun often did, “Ah... Well, you were gone hours, you see. Iorveth was worried you wouldn’t return at all and sent us to... Uhm... He sent us to search for you body... Luckily though we heard your Shouting and knew where to find you.”

“Lovely... I see Iorveth trully believes in me.”, the Dragonborn said, rolling her eyes, “Still... Thanks for coming. I don’t think I would be able to return to the Scoia’tael camp alone.”, she ended up conceding, seeing how some of the elven scouts were holding their laugh at her words.

“Probably not.”, spoke the same elf, “Let’s go... You must be tired and hungry.”

“You have no idea.”, Vána muttered, with a self-depreciative laugh, “Lead the way.”, finishd her, as the Aen Seidhe nodded with his head and the group led her all the way back to their hiddeout, and Vána was glad it had taken only a few minutes for them to arrive.

‘Nothing like knowing your surroundings...’, she mused, walking past the impressed eyes of every Scoia’tael – from elves to dwarves, as they stared in awe at the blood of the kayran which tainted the Dragonborn’s Ancient Nordic armor.

The Dragonborn saw Letho assessing her image from a shadowy spot, further from the rest of the group, as he nevers seemed to actually mingle with the non-humans he so claimed to be an ally, before her blue eyes took notice of the elf who had been disturbing her thoughts in many inopportune moments.

Iorveth stared at Vána with a mix of relief and fascination, and the silver-haired nord had to tell herself it was probably nothing more than admiration for her prowess in battle, as it was as if only now the Scoia’tael leader realized who she trully was.

“You...”, Iorveth said as he approached her, “I was starting to think you were dead.”

“So I heard from the men you sent after _my body_.”, the Dragonborn said, sacarstically, “Although I must thank you for it... I would be still lost if not for them.”, she admitted, earning a tiny smile from the Aen Seidhe.

“You slayed it then¿”, he asked her, gazing at the purplish insides of the kayran stucked at the nord’s armor.

“Yes, but I didn’t do it alone.”, Vána sighed, and Iorveth’s single eyed narrowed in a matter of seconds, no longer bearing the relieved expressions he had on his face just a few moments before.

“What do you mean¿ Who helped you¿”, the elf questioned.

“A sorceress I do not know the name and the witcher – Geralt.”, the nord spoke.

“The Gwynbleidd¿”, Iorveth asked again, both in shock and what Vána interpreted as anger.

“Gwyn-... what¿”, the Dragonborn raised one of her eyebrowns, not exactly understanding the word the Aen Seidhe said but imagining it was related to the white-haired witcher, “Uhm... Yeah, he was actually the one to kill the kayran in reality. Threw a bomb onto the creature’s mouth.”, she explained, motioning to her own armor, “Not the most pleasent moment in my life.”

“Did you kill him¿!”, Iorveth inquired, raising his voice a little, altough Vána didn’t bothered with it this time, knowing too well that his anger wasn’t targeted at her.

“Of course not.”, was all she said in return, earning a confused expression from the elf, which prompted her to explain her reasons.

“As much as I don’t like him, this Geralt, I couldn’t just kill him after having fought at his side.”, Vána spoke, sighing, “Call me an idiot if you’d like, naive or anything else... But that’s just not the way of my people, that’s not how we nords do.”, continued her, interrupting Iorveth before he had the chance to usher any words, “And you know what¿ I’m tired, and hungry, and sticky, and smelling like the insides of a kayran. All I want is to take a long bath, eat something and sleep like a vampire during the daytime.”

Having heard the Dragonborn’s last words, Iorveth, who seemed to be ready to snap at her for not killing the white-haired witcher, soon closed his mouth, as if thinking on what to say before taking a deep breath.

“Fine. Go take a bath... You surely deserve some rest after everything you went through today.”, he said, giving her a mischieveous smile at her, “That, and you’re really smelling horrible.”

“Oh, am I¿”, she asked, narrowing her eyes, “What did I tell you about not saying such things to a woman¿”

“Go take your bath, tomorrow we can speak properly abou tour next steps.”, Iorveth said, simply smiling at her, still playful, earning a groan from the nord.

“You’re insufferable, Iorveth.”, Vána spoke, shaking her head, “Alright, see you tomorrow.”, finished the Dragonborn, as she made strode away from him to gather some water to bath herself.

And after having a long and relaxing bath and having eated something, the nord did as she said she would and fell asleep quicker than she had for quite some time.

Yet, even though Vána slept soundly on her fur mattress, the nord couldn’t trully rest as she heard Hermaeus Mora’s voice in her dreams.

The dream had started with her fight against the kayran, but soon the beast’s tentacles were replaced by the deadric prince’s ones and the water where the creature she faced once stood in real life was too replaced by the dark coloured waters of Apocrypha.

And so, by the end of her nightmare, Vána was no longer fighting the kayran, but Hermaeus Mora himself as he kept tauting her – warning her that she could never escape from his reach, for he would soon take her back.

The nord was glad to be awakened by the sounds of the Scoia’tael, who always woke up early to start their day, with some taking care of the camp, from preparing food to fixing damaged weapons and armor, to others going out to scout the area for any sights of the Blue Stripes or white-haired witchers.

As she got to her feet after realizing it was better to give up on trying to get more rest even though her body still felt sore, the Dragonborn soon started to wonder that ever since she arrived in this strange world, Hermaeus Mora trully hadn’t had actually done anything to take her back to Apocrypha, besides some few dreams that could be only her mind playing tricks on her.

Could it be that the daedric prince of knowledge and fate had no power in this world, even with all of their might and power¿ Was it even possible¿

Or maybe there was something holding him back, something like the barrier Akatosh created to protect Mundus from further daedric invasions after the Oblivion Crisis¿

If this was the case... Did it mean that she was safe in this world from the grasp of the prince of knowledge and fate¿ Could it mean...¿

No. She wasn’t going to think about it. Vána _couldn’t_ think about staying. This world was a mess – even messier than Tamriel, and from what she had learned from the elves and dwarves, someone like her would never have a place to live in such place. Anything that wasn’t normal enough was considered dangerous, and the nord was sure that where the Scoia’tael saw in her Shouts their salvation, most of the inhabitants of this world would have a different opinion about a Dragonborn and the power of her Thu’um.

The Dovahkiin couldn’t simply abandon her family, her shield-brothers... The people who trusted her back home in Skyrim. She couldn’t run away, that she had already learned once she thought it was possible for her to escape from her fate as the Last Dragonborn.

And running away simply wasn’t the nord way.

Vána would return to Nirn, whether that meant facing Hermaeus Mora or not, and she would take proffit on the fact he – seemingly – couldn’t reach her to find her way back to Tamriel and also a way of fighting him.

But that, the nord would have to think on another time, as she had many things to deal with to keep up her promise on helping the Scoia’tael, and so Vána decided to start her day by having breakfast, wanting to gather some strength before going to meet Iorveth to discuss with the one-eyed elf about his next plans to get the Scoia’tael to Upper Aerdin and meet the so called Virgin, Saskia.

During the time she was sitting next to the small pyre to eat, the Dragonborn was surprised to hear that Iorveth had cleansed her armor while she slept, not having expected him to do such task to her and cursing the feeling in her stomach – those damned butterflies she kept feeling whevener the elf’s name popped in her mind.

It was starting to get annyoing, the silver-haired nord mused silently to herself, as she made her way to meet said grumpy yet surprisely kind Aen Seidhe, pushing the thought aside as her blue eyes found his green one for a bried moment, choosing to focus on Letho’s abscence to avoid his gaze. Vána had expected to see the bald witcher there to discuss what should they do now that the kayran laid dead, but then again, the Dovahkiin couldn’t say she was actually surprised the man wasn’t there as she barely ever saw him on their camp, either preferring to stay alone in a distant place or leaving to do who knows what.

“Where’s Letho¿”, she asked, breaking the eye contact with the elf.

“The vatt’ghern left earlier this morning to deal with some of his business.”, explanied Iorveth.

“Shouldn’t he be here¿ I mean... He’s going with us to Vergen, isn’t he¿”, the Dragonborn asked, earning nothing but a shrug from the elf, before he approached her.

“Feeling rested¿”, came his voice, softer than Vána had expected, getting caught off guard.

“What¿ I... Yeah, I mean... A little.”, Vána managed to say, cursing herself for almost stutter and cleaning her throat before she continued to speak.

“Oh, and thank you for cleansing my armor, by the way.”, she said, noticing how embarrassed Iorveth seemed to be momentarily.

“Make nothing of it. I couldn’t sleep well so I decided to help with everyone’s equipement.”, the elf shrugged, and the Dragonborn accepted his explanation.

“Still, you saved me quite the work...”, the Dovahkiin spoke, making a brief pause before continuing, “Anyway... Let’s discuss your plans, then. What do you have in mind¿ We still need to find a ship, don’t we¿”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”, said the one-eyed elf, “We already found a ship for us.”

“You did¿”, Vána questioned, surprised by his words.

“Yes, we did. But that’s where it comes the tricky part...”, Iorveth spoke, sighing as he crossed his arms at his chest.

“Meaning¿”, the nord asked, furrowing her eyebrowns.

“The only way for us to get this ship to sail to Vergen... is by stealing the Prison Barge docked in Flotsam.”, explained the Scoia’tael leader, but the Dragonborn had a hard time processing his words.

Vána could feel Iorveth’s heavy stare on her, as if expecting her to say something – most likely to compliment his utterly _insane_ idea.

“What in Oblivion are you thinking¿!”, the Dovahkiin asked, raising her voice in disbelief, and Iorveth frowned at her reaction, “Are you... Are you saying you want to invade a city to steal a ship¿”

“We’ll not enter the town.”, the elf said, his voice sour as he spoke, “We’ll divide the unit. One group will attack from the harbor and the other will sail downriver. Most of the guards should be at the trading post.”

“Still... That’s... That’s too risky, Iorveth! To you and to the people of Flotsam!”, Vána forced herself to lower her tone, trying to reason with the other with no avail, if the elf’s moody expression meant anything.

“So what if some humans from that filthy city die¿”, the Aen Seidhe snapped.

“But you said that there are elves and dwarves living there as well... And the scouts told us that after our confrontation with the Blue Stripes some were even hangged.”, the nord spoke, “If we act the way you plan us to, there’ll be consequences for these people – your people! You have to reconsider it!”

The Dragonborn’s words seemed to make Iorveth think about the whole situation she was painting out for him to visualize, as his anger was placated, even if only a little.

“And do you have any better idea, Dragonborn¿”, he asked, and as much as Vána wanted to say ‘yes’, she knew she didn’t have one and that Iorveth knew it too, as he stared at her face attentively.

“Then...”, Iorveth spoke again, realizing the nord wasn’t going to say anything, “We have our plan, whether you like it or not. I won’t stop you if you decide to stop following us.”, the elf continued, avoiding Vána’s eyes, “You have already helped us, and whatever debt you once had to us, I consider it already paid.”

“I’m not planning on turning my back on you now, Iorveth”, the nord said, and Iorveth’s green eye returned to her direction, as he seemed ready to speak, “I mean... “Between you and the humans who hunt you... I still think this is the rightest cause for me to fight for.”, the Dragonborn told him, staring directly into his eye, “But sometimes... When I hear your hatred for humankind...”, she sighed.

“Not for all humans...”, Iorveth said, earning a confused expression from the nord.

“Huh¿”, was all Vána managed to express.

“Just... Forget about it.”, the elf told her, turning his gaze away from her, “You should rest for today... Regain your strength, for we’re going to need you when we make our move.”, finished the Aen Seidhe, moving away from the silver-haired nord, and she grabbed her amulet of Talos, praying to the Divines for Iorveth’s plans don’t getting up ending into a bloodshed – and she prayed the gods could listen to her prayers from this world.

\--------------------------------------------------xxxx--------------------------------------------------

When Miraak was first told that the old Telvanni mage was insufferable to be to be dealt with, he didn’t expect Neloth to be _this_ insufferable.

He had tried to prepare himself to meet with dark elf which Venalir talked so ill of, thinking that if the wizard was really as powerful and wise as his two allies told him, he would be able to bear the Telvanni’s infamous tantrums. But how was he mistaken!

That Neloth was indeed a formidable mage and scholar, Miraak could not complain. They had, thankfully, advanced a lot in their researches and the old dunmer was playing a big role in their discoveries, allowing the First Dragonborn and his two mer friends to make use of his resources, including his rare collection of tomes and ingredients from all across Tamriel and even from the Southern continent of the maormer, Pyandonea and the mysterious Akavir from the East.

And until they got stuck, without the rest of the ingredients they needed – not even knowing what ingredients they needed to proceed with the ritual, the Atmoran managed to endure Neloth’s peculiarities. Once they couldn’t figure out what to do, however, that’s when the Telvanni wizard proved to be untolerable to the former Dragon Priest.

Everytime Miraak and the other two came up with a new idea or solution, not only Neloth dismissed its possibilities but he also snapped at them, judging what he considered to be amateurism from their part, and after a few weeks without getting nowhere, the tension only kept on scalating and neither Sindri or Miraak couldn’t talk with Neloth for more than a few words before they all started to argue or even quarrel.

Venalir ended up becoming a bridge between the pair of his mage allies and the older dunmer, interrupting their discussions whevener they started to get too heated, and Miraak had to concede how much he had started to admire Venalir for having endured the older dunmer alone for almost two months, all by himself.

After what Miraak counted as the sixth week at the mushroom citadel, the First Dragonborn started to wonder if they would ever find the last ingredient they needed to keep the ritual stable, and he was getting with his mood sourer by each passing day.

To add to his struggles, the Atmoran no longer had the ingredients to his sleeping concoction, having not brought with him enough of them for such long staying in Solstheim.

Miraak had searched what he needed with the merchants of Raven Rock, but the former Dragon Priest soon was reminded that his homeland island was mostly isolated from the rest of Tamriel, and none of the vendors had what he needed, and the Atmoran ended up finding himself being plagued by nightmares from his time trapped in Oblivion, suffering from night terrors and always waking up startled, which made him feel ashamed and weak in the eyes of the trio of mer.

Not that any of them ever talked about it, for which he was glad for, but Miraak could feel his friends’ worried gazes on him whenever they thought he wasn’t paying attention to them.

He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of someone worring about him, not being used to such treatment even from his time as a young Dragon Priest. Much had changed inside of him and the way he viewed things ever since his return to Nirn, much of it was thanks to his friends, of that Miraak knew – in fact, the very idea of having _friends_ , people to count on was something completely new to him. Yet, deep inside his mind the Atmoran still felt it was wrong for them to worry about his well being, as if it made him weak.

That’s why he suddenly decided to leave Tel Mithryn one morning, incapable to remain at the Telvanni tower, listening to Sindri arguing with Neloth for the third time on that same day, not saying anything as he made his way to the ruins of his own temple, covering his head so as not to catch the attention of any Skaal, knowing they would never forgive him for what he did – neither in this Era or during his own, as they considered him a traitor.

He needed to breath the cold air of the island.

No, more than that, Miraak needed to _feel_ the snow and its cold to clear his mind from his nightmares, from the voice of Hermaeus Mora which kept taunting him, which he no longer knew whether it was actually real or just a product of his fears.

As he approached the ruins of his temple, Miraak’s eyes went straight to the abandonned constructions, left untouched ever since Vána freed the All-Maker Stones from his influence and the people of Solstheim as well in consequence.

He could have gone to anywhere else, yet, it felt right to him to see for the first time what remained of his once prideful temple. Miraak had not dared to wonder close to the ruins when he returned to Nirn, in fact, at that time his only desire was to get far away from anything that could remember him of his past mistakes, such as trusting in Hermaeus Mora.

The Atmoran felt sorrow as he watched what was once the center of power of Solstheim, now reduced into nothing more than a pile of rocks, its entrance barely visible after his influence over the nearby Skaal and rieklings disappeared. It was a reminder to him that his culture and his people were no more. They were all echoes of a forgotten past which only he remembered, and it took more strength than he expected to go inside the temple – or what was left of it – clearing the snow on his way and hoping the ceiling would not fall over his head.

Miraak had to take a deep breath as he wandered through the chambers of the ruins, finding himself in front of the altar he built to Hermaeus Mora, during the time he still worshipped that damned daedra, feeling pathetic over the forlorn memory.

He stared at the statue of the daedric prince for hours, unmoving, not even paying attention as the time passed him by, not having listened to the steps of the spellsword dunmer who came in search of him.

The Atmoran only took notice of Venalir after the dark had arrived for quite some time, blinking in surprise as he stared at the mer who kept his crimson stare at the statue and the altar in front of both of them.

“Ven¿”, Miraak called him, and the spellsword finally turned towards the Atmoran’s direction.

“Sorry for searching you here... I realized that you were probably in need of some time alone once I didn’t find you in Raven Rock, but...”, the dunmer started to explain, however refrained himself for saying anything else.

“How long have I been gone¿”, the Dragonborn questioned, not even sure how long he had stayed there.

“Four hours, I think¿” Venalir told him, and Miraak sighed, as if suddenly feeling tired from staying at his temple.

“I suppose it’s better for us to return to Tel Mithryn, then.”, the Atmoran muttered, ready to move his legs towards the exit.

“Or we could go to Raven Rock, if you’re still not in the mood to listen to another of master Neloth’s tantrums.”, said the dunmer, earning a confused look from Miraak.

“Unless you had had some sort of epiphany while in here that’ll help us... I don’t see why you can’t continue your escapade for a little more.”, Venalir spoke again, “Also... I managed to import the ingredients you were in need for your sleeping potion. Milore Ienth sent me a note saying she already received them, we should go meet her to get them.”

“But...”, Miraak started to complain but interrupted himself, realizing that Venalir had a point, “I think I could use some time in Raven Rock instead of going back to face those two arguing right now.”

“Yeah... Let’s go then. No offense, but I really don’t like staying here at your temple.”, said the dunmer.

“Me neither.”, was all Miraak answered as they left Hermaeus Mora’s statue behind.

\--------------------------------------------------xxxx--------------------------------------------------

Taverns – or _corner clubs_ , as the dunmer preferred – were places that Miraak had yet to get used to.

He was thankful that the Retching Netch was not as full of people as the taverns from Skyrim, an obvious consequence of the small number of inhabitants and travelers residing in Raven Rock.

But even with only a few costumers at the corner club, the two men decided to sit at the farthest table in the room, and while Miraak settled on his chair to check the ingredients Venalir had bought from Milore, his dunmers friend went straight to the bar to order some matze for them, at the condition he wouldn’t let the former dragon priest to drink to much due to his low alcohol resistance.

Miraak had to admit he was quite surprised that not only the spellsword knew about his potion for sleeping – which was something he had tried his best to conceal from his traveling partners – but also that elf knew the exact ingredients he used on it.

He frowned, not too happy with the discovery, disliking the idea of someone having looked into his bags or even into his notes, even if said person was his ally. And as Miraak saw Venalir returning with a bottle of drink in hand, the Atmoran thought about accusing the dunmer and arguing with him, changing his mind at the last second, to tired to start another discussion when all he wanted was some peace after months of researches and many nights of terrible sleep.

All he did was sigh, muttering “thanks” to the dark elf who sat in front of him, already filling a glass with matze and drinking it, grumbling due to the sour taste of the dunmeri drink, earning a brief and cocky smile from the elf.

“I told you I could have ordered some wine or ale for you.”, Venalir spoke.

“No... It’s best not to spend too much money with drinks. We still don’t know when we’ll be able to return to the mainland.”, said Miraak, “Even if we keep fetching itens here and there, the payment may not be enough for the three of us.”, continued him, earning a sigh and a nod from the spellsword.

“So... Did I get everything right with Milore¿”, asked the dunmer before drinking some matze as well, now earning a sigh from Miraak, who frowned upon being reminded of this topic.

“You did. And you probably knew it.”, the Atmoran answered, raising his blue eyes to meet blood-red ones.

“And you’re angry for it.”, Venalir stated, not shying away from the human’s stare.

“Look...”, Miraak sighed again, partly wanting to let the subject go and partly wishing to point a finger at the dark elf and accuse him for having looked into his stuff, drinking the whole content of his glass before opening his mouth to say anything else, only to be interrupted by the dark elf sitting in front of him.

“I’m not proud for having pried into your bags... It was before we knew we could trust you. I only meant to check if you were planning on doing something against Vána.”, Venalir explained, lowering his gaze, somewhat ashamed for his actions.

Miraak sighed for the millionth time that day, unable to blame the spellsword or any other person for not having trusted him at the beginning, even when he was still weak from his fight against the Last Dragonborn in Apocrypha. In fact, they were right to distrust him at that time as he did planned to kill the three of them and take Vána’s soul to become powerful and conquer what he once thought to be rightfully his.

“Let’s... just forget about this, then.”, came Miraak’s resolution for the matter, realizing he was under no condition to accuse the dunmer of anything when the Atmoran himself knew that Venalir had had a good excuse for prying.

The former dragon priest felt the other’s gaze upon him, listening as the spellsword took some breath as if to say something, only to drink more matze instead, deciding to drop the matter.

Both men fell into silence, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable to Miraak, as he actually enjoyed it as it gave him time to recollect his thoughts while Venalir’s attention got caught by something he heard in his native dunmeri language from the other patrons in the corner club. Although Miraak himself knew how to speak the dunmeri language, he didn’t pay attention to what was being said, neither he cared about it, trusting Venalir to tell him if it was anything of importance for the two of them... He, however, had the feeling it was probably just some stupid joke, if the laughs were of any indication.

And as Miraak checked the ingredients for his concoction once more out of pure boredom, a sudden epiphany hitted him, and without any warning from his part, the First Dragonborn got on his feet, eyes wide with realization, startling the spellsword who eyed him in utter confusion.

“Miraak¿”, Venalir asked, visibly worried, “What happened¿”

“I... I think I found the ingredient we were missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back!  
> I apologize for the time it took for me to update this fic... I had lost interest in writing it, but now I'm unemployed and trying to remain sane with all the chaos happening in my country, so I figured it would be nice to distract myself with something...
> 
> Sooooooo... In case anyone is still following the story, here's the new chapter!~  
> I hope you like it <3  
> Not my best chapter but I got a little rusted from not having written for quite some time...
> 
> Again, I apologize for any grammar mistakes as English is not my native language and I mainly write in Enliglish to practice my vocabulary  
> And in case you see any "na", bear in mind that it should be "an" (it's just that my Word is programmed in Portuguese and it keeps "correcting" English words, and sometimes I miss these small details when I'm reviewing what've written)

**Author's Note:**

> First of all I want to apologize for any mistakes.  
> Not only English is not my first language but I also have a small degree of dyslexia. That being said, my Word program is configured in Portuguese so it changes many words sometimes without me noticing it... And for some odd reason my question mark is upside down (and I'm kind of lazy to fix all of them at the moment). :'D
> 
> I would also appreciate if anyone point out any grammar mistakes as I like to write in English to practise (while also having fun writing). <3
> 
> Second, this fic is heavily inspired by the fic The Nerevarine and The Witcher by SSJGODGohan23, which I highly recommend for you to check it out! ;)
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy the story~!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the any of the characters nor the stories of The Elder Scrolls V Skyrim or The Witcher, I only own my own ideas for this fic and my original characters based on both series.
> 
> PS: if you don't like the story, do yourself a favor and don't lose your time with it, go do something useful for yourself <3


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